


Crackling Sky

by Shadowblayze



Series: Crackling Sky 'Verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Falling down and getting up again, People aren't perfect, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowblayze/pseuds/Shadowblayze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petunia's miscalculation on the way the Blood Wards functioned landed her nephew in the hands of the Estraneo. </p><p>When Harry escapes, years later, he is found by a certain perverted doctor. </p><p>Will the traumatized young teen and the secretive doctor come together or will Harry's past as an experiment prevent him from trusting this unexpected link to his long-dead parents?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miscalculations

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any mistakes! Editing isn't my strong point!
> 
> HP timeline was shifted forward by five years- I can post the technicalities of it if you want- but Harry was born in 1985 as a result. It is a wholesale timeline shift, so it affected everyone.
> 
> Also, feel free to point them out!
> 
> Enjoy!

Petunia Dursley knew that the so-called Blood Wards that were erected around Privet Drive would keep out people who intended to harm her or her family.  It was the major reason why she had taken her nephew in when she’d found him on her doorstep that brisk November morning.

(After all, she was a _muggle_ and if the freaks came after her because of her _freakish_ sister- well, she could let the boy live with them if it would keep Dudders and Vernon _safe_.)

However she was not overly fond of her nephew and often turned a blind eye to the more _less-than-tender_ mercies that her husband and son bestowed upon the boy.

Oh, Vernon never did more than give the boy a good cuff ‘round the head.  Dudders could get away with far more cruel behaviors under the guise of ‘boys will be boys’, but Petunia knew that nothing horrid actually happened to her nephew, despite these behaviors.  Petunia herself had whacked him with the frying pan once or twice, but he was not overly abused.

Besides, his _freakishness_ always healed him overnight.  Just as Lily’s _unnaturalness_ had always done.

So, despite it being nearly nine o’clock in the evening on a sultry summer night, Petunia wasn’t particularly concerned as she locked the door, barring her nephew entrance to the house for the night.  Yes, the boy was only seven, but the shed was unlocked and she had threatened to make him sleep there enough times he would know to do so.

Having to sleep in the shed for a night would teach him to be back before she and Vernon decided to go to bed!  The nerve of that brat!

However, there was something Petunia Dursley _didn’t_ know.

The Blood Wards only kept out those with the intent to cause harm to Harry, and were specifically designed to be geared towards _magicals_.

Therefore when Luigi Mancini offered the boy a drink of water from a sealed water bottle, Harry had hesitantly accepted and the Wards didn’t activate.  They stayed dormant as the man caught the sleeping boy and put him in the man’s awaiting car, and by the time Luigi intended to cause Harry harm the boy was too far from where the Wards were anchored to react properly. 

That isn’t to say they didn’t _try_ , but they could only do so much as they were anchored to a dwelling.  A dwelling which was far away from where the boy they were supposed to be protecting was at.

Thus, Harry Potter disappeared from England on a warm summer’s night and no one noticed.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Luigi was an Estraneo scientist.  He has been a part of the team that had devised the Possession Bullet.  So he was inordinately curious when his experimental device picked up on a possession nearby when he was visiting family in England.

He was even more surprised when it led him to a child.  A child who, from what he could uncover, had _no ties_ to the Mafia.  There were discrepancies with his parent’s records, however, but Bertram always handled those sorts of cases.

Luigi had honestly not thought that he’d get an opportunity to spirit the intriguing child away, but then an opportunity presented itself and he was a pragmatic man.

Being a Mist was incredibly handy sometimes.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry Potter- better known as Experiment 73180P- had been stuck in the Estraneo labs for nearly five years.

He could honestly say that he missed his cupboard.

When he wasn’t ‘on the table’ it wasn’t so bad.  He was used to small, cramped spaces and being made to do an inordinate amount of tasks.  Instead of a cupboard he had a cell- though his cell did have a window, as opposed to his cupboard- and instead of chores he had tasks.

He couldn’t remember much about the first few months after he came here, as it was all blurred from the drugs and the haze of pain that he was in, but he knew that they had done a bunch of procedures on his scar.  (Though his eyesight had been fixed during that time as well, and all he could remember from those procedures were a blur of intense pain.)  It was _because_ of whatever had been inside it- the lab techs liked to discuss things while he was in ‘recovery’ and he had learned that if he stayed calm and pretended to still be asleep that he could get information that way- that the scientists had him in his own cell.  They also expected him to learn quickly and his ‘tasks’ were whatever curriculum they decided that he needed to learn for the day.

He’d learned early that it was best if he applied himself fully, as irritating the scientists tended to make them ‘forget’ the anesthesia during his next round of procedures.

The tasks weren’t always academic, some were physical.  They always gave him a handicap when he performed the physical tasks though- like a poison that made him extremely sick or actually breaking a bone or two- so that he couldn’t entertain the thought of trying to escape.

The worst tasks were always the ones that involved the Dying Will Flames.

The theory was actually really interesting and enjoyable, but the experiments were the _worst_. 

Some of the scientists who worked for the Estraneo Famiglia were also magic users, but Harry was the only magic-capable child that they currently had to test out their theories on.  While they had to be careful to keep to the Statue of Secrecy- the magical version of Omertá- lest the Vindice come down on them for breaking it, (since they were Mafia they fell under Vindice jurisdiction), the scientists were still able to spend a great deal of time on him.

(It was only the interference of the Blood Wards that kept the scientists from linking Experiment 73180P to _the Harry Potter_.  A small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless.)

The novelty of experimenting on poor Harry was compounded by the fact that Harry had a rare Flame- he was a Sky.

So not only did the scientists get to play around with a magic user, they were able to manipulate the rarest Flame in the Mafia world!

Harry had learned all about Guardians, and Soft Flames versus Hard Flames, and Inverted Flame Users versus Classic Flame Users.

The theory behind it all was _fascinating_.

The tests- the ones where they forced him and another person into a position to achieve Harmony and then broke the Harmony, or where they pumped him full of drugs that manipulated what type of Flame he could use and made him perform tests to see if the drugs worked properly- were _agonizing_ , mentally, emotionally, and physically.

To feel a moment of enveloping another person and providing them with a sense of home, only to have that feeling ripped away in a clinical, calculating manner _hurt_.  Most of the Elements who suffered during these experiments fell into Dissonance, even as Harry tried to absorb as much of the damage he could in a valiant struggle to save them.

Harry _hated_ that feeling.  The _hurt_ and _rage_ at being gifted with Elements to fill up the empty expanse that seemed to linger somewhere around his chest, only to have them ripped away was _intense_.

The twelve-year-old had bided his time, waiting patiently for them to make a mistake in handling him.

And finally, they did.

Harry burned through the lab techs mercilessly, his time there having taught him what cruelty they were willing to partake in and robbing him of any sense of empathy for these monsters.

He kept going, kept fighting, until he made it to the cages where the other- _general purpose_ \- specimens were kept.  By then the scientists had starting pumping gaseous tranquilizers into the air, but Harry was using his Sun Flames to burn through the tranquilizers faster than he was inhaling them.

Harry melted the locks off of the cages and kept moving.

Eventually he made it to an exit and burst outside, not being foolish enough to stop and enjoy the feel of the sun on his skin after being kept underground for so long.

He heard shouts and alarms behind him, yelling for him to stop, that he’d never make it past the grounds and _to give up now_ before he was in even _more_ _trouble_.

Harry ran.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

One of the things that he had learned under the Estraneo’s tutelage was languages- he was surprisingly gifted in them, actually.

He was in Italy, so the name ‘Harry’ would have to go, as it would be memorable here.  Not that it overly stood out, but was different enough to be noticed.

That is, if he had to give his name to anyone.  He’d have to put something on his soon-to-be-forged travel papers, though.

The Estraneo were also looking for a twelve-year-old _boy_ , so making himself androgynous was another way to avoid suspicion.

(He was **never** going back there.  _To the needles and pain and broken bonds-)_

The boy took a deep breath and braced himself against an alleyway wall.  He needed to be careful.  A single misstep could land him right back in the Estraneo’s clutches and _there would be no second chances_.

 _Okay, there was, like, three scientists named ‘Antonio’, so that will be my cover name.  Well, how about ‘Toni’, with an ‘i’ at the end, so people question my gender._   Harry thought as he mentally called up all of the things that he’d need to do to get out of the country.  _There’s two Mafia Sanctuaries in Japan, but Japan is ridiculously hard to get into.  If I can make it to a Sanctuary, though, the Estraneo can’t try to kidnap me- again- without causing an incident.  Flame users who take refuge in a Sanctuary are considered untouchable unless the Vindice are after them.  And the Estraneo can’t risk it as they’re already on thin ice with the Vindice._  

Harry slipped out of the alleyway, wanting to keep in motion so he could cover more ground, and started walking, doing his best to look like he belonged as he merged with the crowds.  _I need money, but I should be able to steal some._

Where once upon a time Harry would have opposed doing such a thing, his years as a _specimen_ had rearranged many of his priorities.

He had paid special attention to the information in his geography books about which countries required visas before entering them.  (His escape had been a long time in coming and the Estraneo had been pretty secure in their security.  They had let him have access to more information than was wise, (on their part), but they wouldn’t make that mistake a second time so he _had to get this right_.) 

One of the benefits of his enforced education was that he knew how to pull out his Mist Flames, which would be useful in helping _convince_ or _suggest_ to people that he had the required paperwork.  Though he had to be careful not to use his magic as magic could be traced by the magical ministries, (some of whom monitored nonmagical transportation for hidden magicals), and he didn’t want to run into _them_ either.

Harry saw an employee coming out of the backdoor of a business to take a smoke break, and so he covered himself in Mist Flames and slipped behind the man.  It was an upper-level franchise store, so he wouldn’t feel too badly about robbing it tonight.  He might have to steal to survive, but he wanted to try to steal from those who wouldn’t be crippled by it, he did have _some_ morals left!

 _The more countries and aliases they have to track me through the better._   He thought as he waited for the employee to finish so he could follow them inside.  _The Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus is only recognized by Turkey, but it doesn’t require a visa to enter, you can get one on arrival.  That’s a pretty easy option to get out of Italy.  The less Flames I have to use, the better off I’ll be, and countries that require a visa before entering usually have tighter security and Mafia oversight, to look for Flames users who are trying to enter illegally._  

He huffed a noiseless laugh.  _Criminals looking for criminals. Sadly, they are usually better than the police because they know exactly what to look for.  They’d turn me back over to the Estraneo, too.  Best avoid countries that don’t allow on-the-spot visa apps._

The man finished his smoke and went back inside, Harry slipping soundlessly in behind him and finding an out-of the-way place to hole up until the store closed.

One he was comfortable behind some boxes, (after swiping some paper and a pen), he started jotting down his options.  He was incredibly grateful for his memory as he sketched out a crude map to help him keep track of his possible routes.

_From the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus I could go down to Africa.  Ethiopia, Uganda, Kenya, and Mozambique are all pretty easy to get into but they’re all right by Somalia.  Jordan doesn’t require a visa, either, but the Middle East isn’t somewhere I want to be alone.   Madagascar and Mauritius, the islands just off Africa’s west coast, is also pretty easy to get into.  There are two islands that would take me back towards the Arabic countries- Seychelles and Maldives._

Harry tapped his pen against his lip thoughtfully.  _Actually, it would be easy to take a flight from Maldives to Thailand, Myanmar, or Cambodia.  You apply for a visa upon arrival in those countries.  Same with Laos, Bhutan, and Nepal- going west- and Macau and Hong Kong- going east._

The green eyed boy’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.  _Indonesia and a whole bunch of islands in the Pacific don’t either, but the smaller the population, the harder it will be to disappear.  The Triads are also a concern in mainland Asia, but even they would be an upgrade from the Estraneo._

Harry sighed softly and looked over his notes.  _Here’s hoping I don’t screw up my one chance at freedom_.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry was undeniably _exhausted_.

Exhausted and out of options.

He was currently in Indonesia, and he’d nearly gotten caught robbing a place.  To make matters worse he’d heard rumors of the Estraneo asking questions in the area when he’d gone to one of the local underworld watering holes and done some proactive eavesdropping.

Harry had been country-hopping for nearly four months at this point, and was even more determined to not be taken back to his cage.  However strong his will, however, he was still only a twelve year old and despite all the procedures he’d undergone during his time with the Estraneo, he still was very much a _human boy_.

So, when the darkness that had been dancing around the edges of his vision finally claimed him, he barely had time to internally curse before he hit the ground.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

When Trident Shamal had gotten a call from his favorite informant about a young girl passing out in front of their shop, he’d quickly finished his lunch and gone to treat the young female.

By the time he had arrived, his associate had the girl on a couch in the backroom, a cold compress on her forehead.

Of course, he’d quickly realized that the child in question was male instead of female, and he’d nearly thrown a tantrum and refused to treat the boy before something happened that hadn’t happened to him in nearly twenty years.

The child’s magic reached for his own, and _his_ magic _reacted_.

There were a ridiculously small number of reasons why his magic would react to the child’s.  They were either a close family member by blood, or they were a close family member by oath.

Considering that he and his brother were all that was left from their branch of the family tree, (because he was well aware of the fact that their mother hadn’t released his brother from the _Infecundus_ _Curse_ that all male heirs were placed under at age twelve out of spite), that pretty much ruled out blood.

Shamal’s eyes narrowed as he considered the alternative options.

An Oath relation, on the other hand……..

…..that was entirely possible.

 _Looks like I’ll have to brew the Oath-Link Potion_.  Shamal decided as he continued to treat his patient.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Regulus Black had realized that he _was wholly on his own_ the summer after his Third Year of Hogwarts.

That was the summer when Mother had put Sirius under the _Cruciatus_ _Curse_ , causing the elder Black brother to flee to the Potters.  Father had done nothing to help or hinder Wallburga, instead he’d merely quietly put the Black Heirship in contest, instead of disinheriting Sirius or installing Regulus as the Black Heir, despite Wallburga’s demands.

After Regulus had been Marked, he’d seen what he’d always, (secretly), suspected serving the Dark Lord was like, and he knew he had to make a plan.  He had been even more disgusted to learn that his new ‘Lord’ had created those foul abominations called Horcruxes.

Regulus had thrown himself into finding an alternative path for his life to take, and by the time the Dark Lord had asked for a House Elf’s service and Kreacher had been volunteered by his simpering fool of a Mother, he’d finally comes to terms with the idea of never using a wand again.

That was the cost of removing the Mark, he’d found.  Voldemort wanted to give his followers the harshest punishment imaginable, and for the Purebloods who espoused ‘magic is might’ it wasn’t losing their magic entirely, or even dying- it was having their ability to use a wand or any type of traditional focus destroyed.

So, when Regulus had gone to the cave, he’d already destroyed his Mark and was prepared to die, which is why he’d given Kreacher the orders that he had.  When the Inferi had grabbed him, he’d thought that that was the end, but after Kreacher had disappeared as he’d been instructed, indigo fire had flared to life around Regulus, and he’d managed to make his way back to the entrance of the cave and escape.

He’d managed to a make it to a nearby village, and grab some fresh clothes, food, and medical supplies.  Once he was able to travel he had made the journey to Gringotts Paris, where he’d cleared out his accounts and had his Will executed to further the perpetuate the myth of his death.

He, as a Pureblood of proper breeding and a friend of Barty Crouch Jr., spoke Spanish, French, and Latin, which suited his plans of disappearing into the ULE until he could figure out what he was going to do with his life just fine.

The Unified Magical Nations of Lower Eurasia didn’t search for someone unless they were wanted by the Internation Confederation of Wizards.  The UMNLE- or ULE for short- had been formed after the First Hegemony War, when Grindelwald’s first attempt to conquer the magical world by conquering the small, city-state like governments of lower Eurasia fell just short of his goals.

The ULE was formed as a way for the smaller city-states to retain their traditions and independence, while being able to defend themselves from cases such as Grindelwald’s attempted hostile takeover.  The independent states’ fierce stance on independence was why they ULE didn’t bother with anyone who wasn’t wanted by the ICW, as if the independent states accepted someone, that was good enough for them.

The ULE’s authority ran from the nonmagical areas of Spain and Portugal, and the lower parts of France along its eastern borders.  From La Rochelle, France, it stretched to the west, skirting around the borders of the Swiss Magical Empire sloping up to the north to include Slovakia, (the Swiss Magical Empire included Austria), and splitting the Ukraine in half.  From the half-way point in Kyiv, Ukraine, it ran south to include Cypress.  All the islands of Mediterranean were included, and the Strait of Gibraltar was where the ULE officially ended.

So, Regulus headed south once he finished his business in Paris.

The next few years of learning to live in the muggle world had been some of the most difficult of his life, and without his newfound abilities with his indigo fire, he probably would have ended up incarcerated or worse. 

As it was, he’d put his talented mind to work and had enrolled in a muggle Healer’s program, as he’d always wanted to be a Healer, but it wasn’t a profession that was ‘becoming’ for a Black Heir.  Regulus had enjoyed college life as a Pre-Med student, channeling some of Sirius’ personality as he’d relaxed and began to truly let go of his past.  His rather androgynous looks for the first year or two on the run had left him with a deep loathing towards males, and he’d declared while he was drunk one night that he would only treat males, and it had stuck.

Once he’d graduated, he’d been accepted to the _Università degli Studi di Pavia_ , or the University of Pavia, (UNIPV). 

It was while he was in Italy that he’d discovered the Mafia and the true nature of his indigo fire.  He had started taking side jobs to help pad his bank accounts, (medical school wasn’t cheap!), and had developed his unique assassination technique.  He’d even found ways to integrate his magic into the technique, much to his delight.

(Truthfully the first disease had been the result of a lab accident while he’d been a Pre-Med student.  He had found out that his magic would hold to contradicting diseases in flux, and when he’d gone to brew the potion that showed who was attempting to use magical means to track a person, he’d discovered that the anomaly had thrown off the potion, which is why he’d repeated the process deliberately- over and over again, until he couldn’t be tracked at all.

Just because he’d had his Will executed didn’t mean that his family fully bought the idea of his death.  They were masters of misdirection, after all.  Regulus had no intention of returning to his former life.

 _Ever_.)

Just after he’d graduated- he’d graduated early- he’d been approached by Reborn the Sun Arcobaleno, because the Sun hadn’t been able to read his thoughts.  After he’d sealed Reborn’s memories, the Sun had taught Regulus- who had been known as ‘T. Shamal’- how to remain a successful independent assassin as payment.

Truthfully, they were each other’s only friend.

Reborn liked to feel important and boss him around, but Shamal had lived with Wallburga Black and rather enjoyed the sadistic Hitman’s rants.

And that was how Regulus Black became Trident Shamal.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Shamal was broken from his trip down memory lane by the timer he’d set.

Getting up and walking over to the table, he removed the potion-soaked parchment and smoothed it out on the table before he tipped the small vial of the boy’s blood on it.

The blood was immediately soaked up by the parchment and it was only a moment later that the information appeared.

 _Dammit_.  Shamal cursed in his mind.

For there on the parchment was the name of his brother and his brother’s Godson.

By the potion, his brother was listed as ‘indisposed’, which meant that Shamal now had a _magical obligation_ to look after the boy as the bond had defaulted to him, due to the boy’s magic unconsciously reaching for him and his magic responding.

He could refuse, and it probably wouldn’t hurt him too badly, but from what he’d heard lately this was the boy who had escaped the Estraneo Famiglia and Shamal was insanely curious how his brother’s Godson had come into the custody of the _Estraneo_ , of all people.

_What to do, what to do._


	2. Tangents

Harry drifted back towards consciousness slowly.  Instinct- _painful trial-and-error instincts that had been keenly honed due to his time in the Labs-_ caused Harry to force his body to remain in a resting state and to show no change in his breathing pattern as his mind slowly transitioned from unconsciousness to consciousness.

 _I’m in a small room, but it doesn’t smell of blood and antiseptic, so most I’m most likely not in the Labs._   Harry noted as he tried to stretch his awareness out to assess his surroundings _.  No beeping from machines, meaning that I’m not in a hospital either, but I can feel bandages on my chest.  My hands and feet are bound- somewhat lightly though- so whoever has me either doesn’t want me to hurt myself or escape, or both.  My body feels really heavy though, like I haven’t moved in a long time or I’ve been artificially paralyzed.  I can hear faint noises, so I must be in a shop or something-_

“I can tell that you’re awake.”  A male voice- speaking English- interrupted his assessment, the tone full of dry amusement.

 _I couldn’t even sense him_!  Harry thought in confusion as he eased his eyes open slowly, blinking rapidly to try to flick the crud that had built up on the corners as he adjusted to the, (thankfully), soft lighting of the room.  His gaze took in the small room he was in efficiently.  There was a window, but the curtains were shut and it must be nighttime outside because they were really dark.  The room held two small beds, a table, a television, and a large mirror, with beige and brown being the prominent colors of the room.  The bed he was in was comfortable and smelled clean, and the covers were soft.

Harry shifted his head slightly and gaze his unexpected companion a wary gaze.  The man had black hair and hazel eyes.  He had a rather business-casual unkempt look to him and was sporting a five o’clock shadow on his face, (it seemed to be more of an actual ‘look’ than a lack of shaving to Harry).

The man smirked, lips parting slightly so that Harry could see the flash of straight white teeth beyond them.  “Finally get tired of playing possum, eh brat?”

“W-who-“  Harry had to stop and swallow a few times to wet his throat so he could speak properly.  “Who are you?  Where am I? How long have I been out?   What do you want with me?”  The young teen couldn’t feel any ill-intent coming from the man, but Harry was intimately aware that harmless-looking people could be hiding brutal intentions.

The man’s smirk widened, and his voice was full of sardonic humor when he spoke.  “Well, seems like the patient is going to live.”  His smirk faded, but the humor still shone in his eyes as he gestured towards Harry.  “You, little Sky, are complicated.”

Harry flinched at the term ‘Sky’ and curled in on himself.  “Don’t call me that!”  He snapped furiously, as memories of _home_ and _shattered_ _bonds_ and _Dissonance_ tore through him.

The man’s eyes narrowed and his playful demeanor dropped.  “ _Merlin_ , brat.  What did those psychos do to you?”

Harry blinked owlishly and latched on to the unfamiliar term.  “Merlin?”  He repeated tentatively.  “What kind of saying is that?”

The man blew out a heavy breath and ran his hands through his messy dark hair.  “Let me get you some food- _those are Mist Bonds and you’ve got a mild paralytic in your system-_ so we can chat.”  The man shifted and picked up the phone, locking a stern gaze on Harry as he did so.  “I’m going to have to step outside to get the food.  We’re still in Jakarta, Indonesia, and the Estraneo are on the streets looking for you.  Be a good brat and stay still so we can talk.  I swear on my magic that if you want to leave afterwards, I’ll let you.  I’m Shamal, by the way.”

A warm wind swirled around the man and Harry nodded reluctantly.  He’d learned about Magical Oaths in the Labs, and he really wasn’t in any shape to run at the moment, but he’d take an opportunity if it presented itself.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

One they had some food in front of them, (Shamal had made a hand gesture, and Harry had felt something like the sting of a small needle before he was able to sluggishly work himself into a sitting position), Shamal began speaking.

“What do you know about your parents?”

Harry gave the man a deadpan stare.  “My relatives said they died in a car crash.”

Shamal’s flat stare was a work of _art_.  “ _Figlio di puttana!”_   He muttered incredulously to himself in Italian as he took a bite of his _nasai uduk_ and chewed it grouchily.  “Don’t tell me you learned about magic in the _Labs_?”  He asked uneasily after he’d swallowed.

Harry nodded slowly, his s _atay_ going down easily despite the growing ball of tension in his abdomen.  “Yes.  My relatives always called me a freak.”  He said quietly.

Shamal blew out another heavy breath and muttered uncomplimentary things just out of Harry’s hearing range.

Harry didn’t have to _hear_ the words to know they were uncomplimentary, however, because the man’s face proclaimed his discontent with the situation _quite_ _expertly_.

“Well.”  Shamal said after a few minutes of tense almost-silence.  “They were pieces of _shit_.”  Shamal stared the boy into submission when he’d opened his mouth to protest, nodding crisply when the boy shut his mouth and resumed eating.

“It’s like this, brat- _and for fuck’s sake, don’t interrupt every five seconds!-_ magicals operate under the Statute of Secrecy…….”  Shamal went on to detail the magical world and the Rise of Voldemort.  He’d done some research in the three days that the boy had been in his care, so he knew enough to tell Harry about how his parents died and where Shamal’s fool brother was.

“……tossed him in Azkaban- the Wizarding Prison- without a trial.”  Shamal finished a few hours later, desperately tired of talking about these uncomfortable subjects.  There was parchment and other paraphernalia he’d collected to show the boy scattered around them.

“So.”  Harry stated flatly after a long, tense moment.  “My parents defeated this ‘Dark Lord; guy and I was dumped with the Dursleys without so much as a by-your-leave.  My rightful Guardian and Magical Godfather was dumped in prison without a trial, _ignoring the fact that magic would have killed him had he actually committed the crime._ As far as no one knowing about your brother’s link to me, the Will would have stated it and takes two Witnesses to perform the proper Godparent’s Oath: The Blood-Pledge of Binding.” 

Harry reached over a grabbed a piece of parchment and waved it around a little as he continued.  “You know that they used the full Blood-Pledge- _instead of just the standard, less encompassing Oath that has become more common_ \- because of the way my magic reached for yours.”

Shamal nodded and slumped back against his little nest of pillows.  “The Godparent’s Oath that most of the younger families- and the Mudbloods and Blood Traitors- use doesn’t bond the child to the Godparents magically.  That means that it’s just a spoken promise with no magical enforcement at play.  The Blood-Pledge binds the Godparents to their Godchildren _magically_ , making the Oath backed by magic itself- with penalties and such attached to it, based on what was sworn.”

Harry scrunched up his nose, “If he’s in Azkaban without a trial, though….”  Harry trailed off uncertainly.

Shamal shrugged.  “His Oath might be helping keep him sane, depending on his actual crime.  I know for certain that my brother wasn’t a Death Eater, though.”

“Hm.”  Harry hummed, looking over the documents carefully and trying to assimilate the information.

He’d learned about Oaths and such in the Labs, and he’d tested the bond between them.  Shamal was a Mist, but magic felt different than Flames, (just slightly different, but enough and Harry had plenty of experience with _both_ types of sensations to be able to tell the difference), and Harry was relatively convinced that the man was telling the truth about the Bond they shared.

Harry didn’t trust the other, of course, he’d be _stupid_ to!  But Harry _did_ think that Shamal wouldn’t turn him over to the Estraneo. 

Trident Shamal had killed more than a few Estraneo members over the years, and Harry had heard the man be discussed in hushed tones n the recovery rooms and hallways when his keepers hadn’t thought that he was listening.

So, at the very least, Shamal didn’t like the Estraneo and wouldn’t likely actively try to harm Harry, which was more than the teen could say for anyone _else_ in his life up to this point.

“Look, brat.”  Shamal said frankly.  “I know that you just woke up today and I’ve dumped a _fuckton_ of new and confusing information on you, but I need to know what you want to do from here.”

Harry blinked, bemused.  “Aren’t _you_ the adult?’

Shamal scowled at the impudent brat.  “The magic of the Oath compels me to assist you.”  He said wryly.  “Tell me how I may do so, oh-great-and-terrible Godnephew of mine.”

The teen blinked a few times and then burst out in slightly hysterical laughter.  The laughter lasted several minutes and some of the chuckles seemed more like sobs, but Shamal just waited patiently for it to end.

Harry hiccupped as he started to calm down.  “You-you know.”  He gasped out breathlessly, a few more chuckle-sobs slipping out as he tried to get a hold of himself.  “I think that’s the first time anyone has ever asked what _I wanted.”_

“That’s really depressing, brat.”

“Tell me about it, old man.”

Shamal spluttered indignantly.  “Who are you calling old, punk?  The ladies adore me!  I’m still in the prime of my life!”

“Whatever helps you get up in the morning, old timer.”

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Shamal was actually staying in the next room, which was adjoined to the one that Harry had woken up in through a set of doors and a small, closet-like space between.  So when the man decided to get some rest, Harry was left alone with his thoughts.

Harry, free of the paralytic agent and the Mist Bonds, sat on the hotel bed deep in thought, as he looked over the information that Shamal had left for him.

 _He didn’t go in to his past much_.  Harry thought reflectively.  _He just said that he’d joined Voldemort because it was what he’d been expected to do his entire life.  Apparently the Headmaster of Hogwarts ran the vocal opposition to Voldemort, but Shamal didn’t like his ideals any better than Voldemort’s._

Harry sighed and stretched his legs, shaking them a little and getting up to wander around the room while he ordered his thoughts.  _So I know that Shamal is smart and knows how to hide.  He also managed to adapt to an entirely foreign world, get a reputable degree, and then become a world-class assassin._

And that was exactly what Trident Shamal was- a _world class_ assassin.

Harry had learned a lot of things in the Labs, but he’d also learned a lot of things at the Dursleys that he’d only fully realized the implications of while in the Labs.

Harry had known about the magical world.  His keepers had forced him to learn about the various magical communities- mostly in the Eastern Hemisphere- and how they operated.  At the time, there were whispers about making him their magical enforcer- as magicals often tried to renege on Mafia debts, and finding Flame Active magic users to go after them was costly.

Granted, most of the Flame Active Mafia didn’t know about magicals, and most magicals didn’t know about the Flame users of the Mafia. 

It should be noted that only about ten percent of the Mafia as a whole were Flame Active.  Most of the Famiglia who already had Flame Active members actively sought out their brethren.  The disproportionate amount of Flame Active people as a whole, and then most of them belonging- or being aggressively recruited to join-  established Famiglia, was what kept the Mafia balanced and somewhat stable, despite its proclivity for violence and rebellion. 

It was also why wars between the Mafia ‘super powers’ were so devastating.

Flame Active people accounted for about five percent of Earth’s population. 

Granted, this meant that there were about three-hundred and fifty-five million Flame Actives in the world.  That sounded like a huge number- and it was!- until a person took into account that Europe held around _seven-hundred million_ people.  Not including Asia- which held around _four and a half billion people_.  Africa’s population clocked in just over a billion- though their civil unrest made an entirely accurate census difficult. Even tiny _Australia_ held twenty-some-odd million.

It was estimated that the Eastern Hemisphere held around _six billion people_ , which meant that the three-hundred and fifty-five million people were able to blend in fairly smoothly.

Granted, there were Flame Actives in South America and North America, so not all of the number resided solely in the Eastern Hemisphere.  However, the ‘new world’ Flame Actives were rare and seemed to not remain in a line longer than three generations, unless they moved or married into a Flame Active line from the East.

So, the majority of the Flame Actives were in the Eastern Hemisphere. 

Specifically, Europe and Asia.

While the Estraneo had had all sorts of data on Flame Actives, their information on magicals was much scarcer.  They had estimated that magicals- including ‘Squibs’, as Western Europe was really the only area of the Eastern Hemisphere that cast out their non-focusing using family members- in the Estraneo Famiglia’s  areas of operation of Europe, East Africa, and Asia, were about six hundred million strong.

Magicals, however, had been organized far longer than Flame Actives had been, and were quite adept at hiding from the world at large.

One of the Estraneo scientists had held a hobby of researching cases from the era of the witch hunts, the Spanish Inquisition, and other such major purges of suspected supernatural involvement.  The woman would then try to piece the incidents together and try to determine if they were normal humans, magicals, or Flame Actives that had been hunted.

 _A grisly, but somewhat fascinating hobby._   Harry thought sardonically, as he spun around at the door and continued to pace.  He shook his head sharply as he tried to shake off his brief jog down Tangent Lane.  _She used to like to talk to me while she sterilized the procedure equipment, which is why I know so much about the actual size populations and their breakdowns._

Harry’s main issue was whether or not he was going to use Shamal’s offer of assistance.  He knew the cost of being even a little dependent on someone; knew that it put you at their mercy.  However, he was only twelve for all of his forced education and supernatural powers, and he didn’t want to constantly be looking over his shoulder for the Estraneo if he didn’t _have_ to. 

Shamal would be able to get Harry into a Sanctuary at the very least.  The assassin could also go through the proper channels, which would make Harry untouchable by the Estraneo.  As an Independent Assassin who had a clean record with the Vindice, Shamal could apply for Sanctuary of a Displaced Unaffiliated Flame Active with the Sanctuary Guardians.  If it was granted- and there was no reason why it shouldn’t be- Harry’s residence in the Sanctuary would be was backed by Mafia Law- and most importantly, the Vindice. 

But could Harry trust Shamal enough for that to happen?

To be a Displaced Active- as it was usually articulated- meant that the Sponsor was essentially their guardian.  The guardian provided money, a residence, access to education, and was required to teach the Displaced Active how to use their Flames and about Mafia Law.  Displaced Active contracts dissolved after five years, when the child turned seventeen, or if the Displaced Active joined a Mafia Famiglia that were registered with the Commission and the Vindice, (but only with the Sponsor’s permission).  Until then the Sponsor was responsible for any misconduct, and were allowed to punish the Displaced Active _as they saw fit_.

It was usually used for orphaned children, or children born outside of a Famiglia.  Shamal’s former student Hayato was listed as his Apprentice, which kept the hotheaded kid safe from rival Famiglia or opportunists like the Estraneo.  If Shamal’s Apprentice was _accepted_ into another Famiglia, then the Apprenticeship would dissolve, but for now it was keeping the kid safe.

However, being Shamal’s Displaced Active would put Harry in a much more restrictive position.  Hayato had ran away from his birth Famiglia, (bastards weren’t allowed in the Mafia, but that didn’t mean that they were granted the same rights as their legitimate half-siblings), and could turn Shamal’s advice and suggestions down- then turn around and expect Shamal to put him up for a few nights or patch him up without cost. 

A Displaced Active couldn’t technically do the same.

 _I let him tell me about the magical world because I wanted to learn what kind of person he was_.  Harry mused _.  I didn’t really understand it at the time, but the Dursleys taught me- and the Labs brought it into sharper focus- that you can learn a lot about a person by how they explain something to you.  Are they condescending about it, trying to make you feel inferior?  Slanting the information on way or another, trying to lead you to a ‘correct’ conclusion?  Are they through or do they skim the details, particularly details that aren’t flattering to their cause?  Are they subversive?_

Harry sighed and flopped down on one of the beds, pressing his face into the comforter and trying to repress the urge to scream, cry, and/or have a breakdown of some type.

Harry took a few deep breaths of soap-scented air before he wiggled around to lie on his back and stare sightlessly at the ceiling.

 _Okay, so on the pro-side of things, he was pretty on the level with me, even if he wasn’t entirely forthcoming_.  He mused as he tried to force himself to breathe normally.  _And there’s the Blood-Pledge to think of as well._

Harry’s lips twisted into a grimace as he continued his introspection _.  It’s been less than six months since my escape, and I can’t keep up with my constant ducking-and-running routine much longer.  It would be even  worse if I was somehow recognized and the magical world got wind of me.   I know the Estraneo were always adjusting the Wards on the Labs- I was always given a break while they reworked them, and then they doubled up the procedures for the next few weeks mumbling about ‘setbacks’ and ‘complications’ that’s why I remember- so someone must have been trying to find me pretty relentlessly._

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In the end, Harry fell asleep while his mind ran in circles trying to come to a solution.

He was woken by the adjoining door opening sometime later, (he’d put a Mist Trap on it- a nifty trick he’d learned from his keepers), and Shamal walking inside a short moment later.

“We need to move.  The Estraneo are triangulating your location.”  The man told him grimly.  “The good bit of news is that they lost you a short while before you collapsed, and my informant- who called me because you passed out on the sidewalk in front of his shop and he thought that you were a girl- put a girly blanket on you when we moved you to my car, so no one has connected you to me just yet.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow.  “I spent five years in the Estraneo Labs and I know that that doesn’t say good things about your reputation.”  He said amusedly.

“ _Brat_.”  Shamal growled grumpily, as he huffily sat on the unoccupied bed.  “Tell me what your plan is from here.”

The teen took a deep breath and made his decision.  “I think-I mean-“  Harry closed his eyes and clenched his fists.  “I want you to apply for me to be your Displaced Active.”  He finally managed to get out, exhaling shakily as the weight of his declaration settled heavy in his stomach.

Part of him was glad to have voiced the decision and to have someone to reply on, while the rest of him wanted nothing more than to snatch the words back and run while he still had the chance.

Shamal, to his credit, only blinked and quirked an eyebrow.  “Alright then.  Now, how good are your Illusions?  Because we need to capitalize on your cute, androgynous factor to get away from here clean.”

Harry growled at the man.

“Oh, look.  The little lion cub’s _purring_ at me.”  Shamal teased.

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Shamal had nixed the idea of using their Illusions, as the Estraneo agents were far too close for his comfort.  Instead, the man had given Harry some of his clothes and then had instructed the boy on how to wear them while still making himself seem androgynous.

They made it out of the hotel and into Shamal’s rental car shortly before noon, and were on a plane bound for Okinawa before mid-afternoon.

Shamal had seated them in Business Class, and Harry had the window seat.  This gave the teen plenty of time to reflect on things.

_“I had to do this a lot my first few years after I became Shamal.”  The man had told him as he’d been instructing Harry.  “It’s part of the reason why I hate men.  They wouldn’t want to explain anything when I was dressed like a man, but they’d trip over themselves to help me if they thought I was a woman.  Too many close calls, though.”_

Shamal had teased him about purring and cat scratches and had made about a thousand and one fish jokes, but the comments that Harry would have expected from a lecher were suspiciously absent.

Shamal must have noticed, because he’d addressed it.

“ _I’m an unrepentant lover of the female form, and I can be a huge perv when I want to be.”  He’d said seriously as he double checked everything before they left the room.  “But this isn’t a fun moment, it’s a work one.  And you’ve just made a huge decision, one that has put yourself under my protection, and it is understandable that you’re feeling off-kilter and vulnerable right now.  When you’ve evened out a bit and can handle it, I’ll be a perv- but for now you’re my ward and I’m your guardian.  I know you haven’t experienced a good guardian- except maybe for your parents when you were a baby- but guardians guard you.  Emotionally, psychologically, physically- all three of these areas contribute to your success as a person and it’s my job to guard them.  That means not making perv jokes when you’re feeling exposed and vulnerable, brat. “_

Harry shifted and tried to push down the stupid warmth that he’d felt from that ridiculous statement.

 _Give it time_.  He told himself sternly.  _And Shamal will leave you, just like everyone else_.  _Focus on where you want to go from here_.

Both Mafia Sanctuaries were in Japan, which meant that Harry was going to have to get very good at Japanese, very quickly.

He knew the basics of reading it, but speaking the language was almost out of the question.  A lot of his languages were like that.  He could read them well, and even understand the words when spoken to him, but his replies were clumsy and stilted due to a lack of practice with a fluent speaker.

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They had landed in Okinawa two days ago, and Harry was sitting in his hotel room trying to think of a new name.

Shamal had told him that the name that the man put down on the Application would be Harry’s name for the rest of his Mafia life. 

Harry, after going over the new information that Shamal had gotten from his magical British Isles contact, was _especially_ determined to stay away from that world, which meant that he needed to firmly entrench himself into the Mafia one.

Magicals might be better at hiding from the world at large, but the Flame Active Mafia were _experts_ are hiding in plain sight.

Hi Flame was exceptionally Pure, as well.  Another thing that had made the scientists go ga-ga over him.  Flames were rated in Purity and Intensity- which was sort of the same thing but not quite- and his Flame was both.

Meaning that either he could be involved with the Mafia on his own terms, or he could spend the rest of his life on the run.

Sealing his Flames wasn’t an option.  He was too old and they had become too integrated into his being for them to be cut off without killing him or him falling into Discord.

(Dissonance was when an Element fell out of Harmony with a Sky.

Discord was when a Flame Active fell out of Harmony with _themselves_.

Flames required a certain level of self-awareness .  If a person fell out of balance with themselves and suffered a psychotic break, the Flame would fall out a its normal state of synchronicity within that person’s soul.  This would cause the Flame flare erratically with their unstable emotions.  This would cause the Flame to become progressively more caustic to them as a result, as the Flame would begin to see the originator as a threat and try to eliminate them.

Flame Rejection was when a person rejected their Flame’s existence, usually due to trauma or fear. 

An Internal Rejected forced the Flame deep within the person, flooding their being with the Flame’s Aspect.  Flame types varied on how they coped with such a thing, but it was usually survivable as long as the Rejection didn’t progress to Discord.

An External Rejection was when the Flames were rejected externally.  Usually the person wanted them out, so the Flames obliged.  This could cause a person’s soul to ‘bleed dry’ as they output more Flames than they could sustain.  It could also cause a person to go insane from constantly seeing the flickering Flames on at the edges of their vision, as the Flames would be visible to them.  It could also cause a person’s personality to completely reverse, making them prone to violence or destruction.  External Rejections typically ended in death- by accident, suicide, or assassination, but it was still occasionally survivable.)

So, either he could make a run for it and hope he could make it dodging the magicals, the Mafia, the regular, law abiding concerned officials, and the various criminals who dealt in unsavory trades.  Not to mention trying to get a half-decent education and being able to make a life for himself when he could stop dodging the child protection and recovery agencies, but still be hiding from the magicals and the Mafia.

 _Or_ , he could be Shamal’s Displaced Active and be able to live in a Sanctuary.  In a Sanctuary where he would be fed, clothed, and educated, whilst also being able to choose his own path out of the available options, with a Sponsor who would be able to teach him about the Mafia Laws and how to be an Independent.

Really, it wasn’t a difficult choice when the facts were laid out in the bare light of day. 

Yeah, so he wasn’t going to be able to choose his own happily-ever-after with a picket fence and a dog, but all that was taken away from him when a madman had murdered his parents and he’d been left with the Dursleys.

He’d never be able to work in a hospital- or any medical facility, really- without remembering the Lab.  The few places that he’d stayed over the past few months that smelled like medical-grade antiseptic had been bad enough.  It was as if the longer he was away from the Labs, the more sensitive he was to things that reminded him of them.

The color white bothered him as well.  Well, bright white and stone, and the smell of dampness from being underground.  His little window had been in the basement wall, and his cupboard had had only a small vent in the door.

Small, cramped spaces made him highly uncomfortable as well.  Maybe at one time they would have represented comfort and relief, but now, even with light illuminating them, cramped quarters made him itch uncomfortably.  As if he wanted to crawl out of his skin and wash it.

Harry breathed deeply as he tried to center himself.

 _Focus_.  He told himself sternly.  _You need a name_.  _Your story is that your mother was British and your father was an associate of Shamal.  You will be spending a lot of time in Japan though, so a name that would be easy to say in Japanese would be helpful._

Harry looked at the scribbles he’d made on a notepad that Shamal had procured for him.

His family name was going to be Vasaio.  It was an Italian variant of the word ‘potter’.  It would be easy enough to say in any language, although the pronunciation might be mangled a bit.

Harry looked at the list of first names and bit his lip.

 _He was always my favorite.  I always wanted someone to love me like that, and I guess my parents did, even though they didn’t just flee the country or make provisions for me_ , _then again I’ve always like the stars.  I suppose I could compromise, though….._

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Shamal ran a hand through his hair as he went over the paperwork one last time.

He had to get back to work- he had Contracts he had to complete, that he committed to before he’d found his _brother’s Godson_ in motherfucking _Indonesia_.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to organize his thoughts.

By all rights, Shamal should hate the brat.

James Potter had taken Sirius- the light of Regulus’ life and his _big brother_ \- away from Regulus before the younger Black had known what was happening.  Then Sirius had abandoned everything- _had abandoned him_ \- when the elder had to have _known_ what sort of fate was waiting for the younger Black without Sirius’ interference.

Sirius had left him to die in the service of a madman or by their mother’s hand and he’d never even looked back to see Regulus desperately reaching for him.

And it was all James Potter’s fault.

Now, the man’s son was in Regulus’ care, two worlds and more than a decade later and Regulus- _he was Shamal, dammit_!  _Shamal_!- couldn’t even properly hate the brat!

The boy’s hair was dark with red tints, and his eyes were Mudblood Evans’ shade of green, but other than that he looked more like what Regulus- _Shamal, dammit_!- had looked like at twelve than what Potter had at that age!

Regulus had been raised a Black, and he’d often hidden from his Mother in the Black Library.  It was how he’d known about the existence of Horcruxes, even though all mention of them had been banned in the Spring Wizengamot Session of 1951, along with a handful of other Dark Arts.  Even the Hogwarts Library had censored their books or removed them, and there had only been one or two that had referenced Horcruxes!  (Regulus knew because the Black Library held the same books, unabridged.)

Therefore, Regulus- _Shamal, Shamal, Shamal!-_ had pieced together a theory as to why the boy had ended up with Evans’ muggle sister.

Blood Magic.

It was magic inherent to the oldest lines, and only manifested in times of dire need.

Mothers died for their children all the time but they didn’t survive the Killing Curse.  No, Regulus suspected that Evans’ Charms work merged with the ancient Laws of Equivalence and had somehow spared the son. 

The Peverell brothers might be a myth, but every legend has a beginning.

Speculations aside, as the House of Potter had been reduced to nothing that night and the House of Black hadn’t been consulted- though, admittedly, most of them were Death Eaters or Sympathizes, save for the man they _threw in Azkaban without a trial_ \- the nearest blood relations to tie a Ward of Concealment to were Evans’ family.

Eavans’ sister must have been- or was?  He’d need to look into that- a high-functioning Squib, or her spawn was one, otherwise the Ward wouldn’t have taken.  A Ward of Concealment, which uses the blood of a magical who has had family die to see them safe- usually by buying time or being a diversion- conceals the target from irreparable harm while they live with a blood relation to both them and whoever died for them.

Much like the Patronus Charm feeds off of emotion, the Ward is powered by the feelings of kinship and family.  The stronger the emotions, the more powerful the Ward.  For Harry to have been kidnapped, that meant either the Ward wasn’t cast properly or the Ward was so underpowered that it was feeding off the magic of the boy to power itself.

That theory- grim as it was- would explain why it hadn’t reacted to the man who kidnapped Harry’s intent to cause him harm until it was too late.  If it had been properly powered, the Ward would have dug deeper and sensed the true intent of the bastard and acted appropriately.

Of course, this was all subjective, but Shamal couldn’t see anything less than Blood Magic being able to keep the Estraneo from connecting the boy to _the Harry Potter_.

Bottom line was, Shamal was stuck with James Potter’s brat and he couldn’t even hate him properly.

Shamal groaned melodramatically and slumped further down into his chair in an attempt to sulk.

 _Fate’s a bitch._   He groused unhappily to himself.

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Five days after he’d woken up to find Shamal in his hotel room he was granted Sanctuary, in Namimori, Japan, and his name was officially Asterion Vasaio.

While ‘Asterion’ would be a bit difficult for the people of his new town to pronounce, the newly-minted Asterion was _ridiculously_ _pleased_ with his new start.

He could do without the lion cub jokes from Shamal, though.  Especially when he let slip that he’d almost chosen ‘Aslan’, after the lion in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.

He’d also found that even though Namimori seemed cramped to him, it was actually really small for a town in Japan.  While Namimori was about two hours by train away from Tokyo, it was bordered by impossibly jagged mountains on two sides, and the next town over was an agricultural hub, which accounted for the other two directions. 

This meant that Namimori was the center of commerce for the region, as the mountain made transport of goods in or out difficult during certain times of the year.

The Mafia may or may not be involved in the sustained isolation of Namimori.

However, even as small as it was, housing was _expensive_. 

Even though Shamal could afford a house, it would look suspicious if he bought a house and left Asterion with it.  Especially sense there tended to be a sense of ‘community responsibility’ in Japan. 

Shamal was lucky that the Sanctuary tended to stay away from things like fining a parent or guardian for not attending PTA events and such!

In a few years, when Asterion’s presence wasn’t so new anymore, Shamal would look into getting a house.  _For now though_ , Shamal thought as they toured an apartment _, I think a house would be too big for him.  He’s still adjusting to freedom and being able to make his own decisions._

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The apartment wasn’t huge or anything, but Asterion already loved it.

It held a _genkan_ \- or entryway for changing shoes and such- just past the front door. 

However, one of the things that Harry had loved the most about this apartment was the open floor plan.  Once you opened the sliding doors, (they were so cool!), that led from the _genkan_ to the main part of the apartment, it was open, save for the wall that held the bathroom.

The floors were a warm golden wood color, (and they were actual wood, as this apartment complex was priced in the moderate range for a _reason_ ).  One end of the room held large windows and the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony.  The opposite end of the room held the kitchen.  All the area in between was open space, broken up by the bar that separated the kitchen from the rest of the space.

At the back of the kitchen, hidden by a decorative folding door was a small staircase that led to the loft.  Just off the stairs were the washer and dryer and the small space for laundry.  Past that area was where the bedrooms were.  The loft held a big bedroom with a walk-in closet, and two smaller bedrooms that shared a closet.  The loft also held the washer and dryer, which was located directly over the bathroom. 

The ceiling of the apartment was a crème color, which gave the entire place a nice, relaxed atmosphere.

“You need some color.”  Shamal said from beside him.  “Neutral and warm tones are great, but you need, like a red couch or something.”

“A red couch?”  Asterion asked incredulously with an expression of disbelief on his face.

Shamal smirked, “Trust me, kid.  It’ll be great.”


	3. Fractions of a Whole

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Asterion looked up from his book, glancing briefly at Shamal who was scribbling away on a notepad on the other end of the couch, before casting an approving glance around the newly-furnished apartment in contented satisfaction.

True to Shamal’s predictions, the vibrant red u-shaped couch _did_ lighten up the overall tone of the apartment.  The colorful kitchen utensils were also a welcome addition.

The wall that held the entertainment center completed the small living room section of the apartment.  It was only October, but he’d been warned that Japanese buildings weren’t insulated like most of the buildings that he’d been in up to this point, and winter could get cold.  However, Asterion was secretly in love with the small _kotatsu_ that sat in the middle of the couch arrangement, and couldn’t wait to try it.

 _(“A kotatsu is generally the center of domestic life during the winter months.” Shamal had explained to a confused Asterion as they’d been apartment-hunting.  “It’s changed over the centuries, but most modern kotatsu are a small, low table with a futon or thick blanket draped over it with a heat source underneath.  Most are usually electrical, but this apartment has a recessed charcoal pit, which is a more traditional style.  Trust me, lion cub, you’ll be grateful for the heat in the winter!”_ )

Asterion had been brat-napped, (as Shamal referred to it), from the Dursleys a week after his seventh birthday. 

(Harry had known when his birthday was, because Surrey was part of the Reception-then-Year 1 to 11 system of schooling.  Harry had been sent during the first available year at age four, and learning their birthdays and other ‘important’ information had been part of the curriculum.) 

He’d made his break from the Labs in early summer, so he’d not technically been held by the Estraneo for a _full_ five years, but close enough for him to call it five years of being under their oh-so-tender ‘care’.

While Japan used the Gregorian calendar, and had a seven-day week, the actual names for the months and days of the week were a bit different, as they weren’t simply Japanese-translated counterparts of the Latin or English terms.

The months were labeled either very literally as ‘First Month’, ‘Second Month’ and so on, or they used their more flowery, traditional terms instead.

Thankfully, for his poor head, most simply used a numerical value or the English word instead of the traditional name.

The days of the week were referred to as elements by most of the older folk, which made following their conversations a bit rough sometimes.  Asterion had gotten the gist of things however, and was trying to teach himself to copy the speech that others used as a way to not draw unwanted attention to himself.

Either way you looked at it- either as October or Tenth Month- school in Japan started in _April_.  Actually it ran from April to July 20 th, and then there was the summer break.  The second term ran from early September to December twenty-fifth, and then the final term of the school year ran from mid-January to late March.

What this meant was that school was already in session, and both Asterion and Shamal agreed that he wasn’t quite ready to go back to ‘normal civilian life’ just yet.  Shamal had Contracts that had to be completed, or he’d be in trouble with the Representatives.

For Independent Contractors like Shamal, the jobs they performed were brokered through neutral Representatives, who were under the protection of the Vindice.  They had small enclaves in several fixed locations around the world, and were nigh-untouchable.

The Contracts that were accepted by the Representatives had to abide by Mafia Law, and they had to exist for reasons beyond ‘that person annoys me and should die’.  A large amount of the Contracts were actually for non-Flame Actives who discovered the existence of Flame Users and tried to extort them or sell them out to things like governments or special interest groups.

While these people _technically_ skirted Omertá and the Vindice, as they pieced things together themselves but weren’t Flame Active, they endangered those who _did_ abide under Omertá.

The Vindice couldn’t go after them without breaking their own Laws, so they used Independent Contractors to do the deed instead.  A lot of the Contracts came in as a result of tips from retired Assassins and Hitmen who discovered the odd Flame Active child in an area that wasn’t usually under Mafia watch.

Shamal, as a magic user, also received Contracts for magicals who tried to renege on their debts to the Mafia.  (Reborn tended to have the Vongola send Contracts for such matters to the Representatives for the sole purpose of bullying Shamal into taking them.)  As the number of magic-using Flame Actives was extremely low, he was kept quite busy as he was one of the few who could entirely _eradicate_ the secrets of the Flame Actives while making sure the defaulted party got their due.

Once again, Shamal was a _world-class_ Assassin.

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On his side of the couch, Shamal sighed quietly as he looked over his game-plan for the next few months.

His schedule didn’t allow time for things such as finding his brother’s Godson.  A Godson who had been in an abusive household as a young child and then spent a half a decade as a specimen for one of the most universally hated Mafia Famiglia in the Underworld.

(Shamal made a mental note to talk to Reborn about the Dursley situation, but he was waiting for his contacts to report back on _how_ Asterion ended up there before he decided how to handle that situation.)

Shamal was quite certain that as Asterion settled he was going to go through phases of extreme emotion as the actual reality of what he’d endured set in.  Right now, the kid was still somewhat in shock and riding the adrenaline of being on the run for almost five months, but it wouldn’t be much longer before he crashed.

While the doctor had to leave, he wasn’t leaving his new Displaced Active to his own devices. 

Post Traumatic Disorder, (PTSD), wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for Asterion, after all the kid had been through.  There were also a host of other mental conditions that could crop up- everything from Adjustment Disorders, and then just plain old Depression to Anorexia and Agoraphobia. 

Shamal was hoping, however, that with Psychotherapy and his young age, Asterion would be able to overcome things and be able to make a mostly-full recovery.  His experiences would always be a major part of him, but Asterion was still young enough that Shamal hoped that therapy would help him recover better than an older patient, and not end up with full-blown PTSD.

Ideally Shamal would be here to help Asterion through things, but the very earliest that he could finish his Contracts would be late December, (and that was if everything went perfectly smoothly, which _never_ happened in his line of work).  Of course Shamal would be calling regularly, as he had a Flame-powered cellular Phone, (Mafia technology was incredible, and Reborn kept Shamal in cutting-edge Flame Tech), but he wouldn’t physically be around for next few months.

Shamal knew that Japanese schools had a major problem with bullying, and Asterion’s soon-to-happen emotional upheaval was _not_ really the place for him to be until Asterion could feel confident in his control of his issues.

(Emotional upheaval ran the full gambit off emotions- from fear of confrontation to blatant aggressive behavior.)

Shamal had set up some correspondence courses for Asterion, so that he was actually registered with a school and could become used to the rhythm of assignments and deadlines at his own pace before being pushed into the group oriented culture of Japanese schooling.

Schools in Japan were heavy on group projects, and outcasts were seen as lacking in skills or motivation.  A student was generally reprimanded at the beginning of class in front of everyone as a method of saying ‘see how we’re wasting time because you’re not pulling your weight?’.

While educating children wasn’t his strong point, Shamal knew that that sort of environment would not be conducive towards Asterion transition into ‘normal life’ at this point, and wanted the teen to become used to interacting with other people in stages, so as to prevent a massive breakdown from occurring.

Shamal also thought that being able to start Middle School in April as a clean-slate sort of thing would be far more beneficial to his ward than being thrown into his final year of Elementary school woefully unprepared.

That meant finding a Psychotherapist who could be _trusted_ to look after Asterion until Shamal could return, as Shamal didn’t want the boy to be cooped up in the apartment with no supervision.

The list of people Shamal _trusted_ could be counted on the fingers of a single hand, and none of them were Psychotherapists.

However, there was a Sun, an Inverted Sun with a Soft Flame, with excellent control over said Flame that he knew.

She also owed him her life, livelihood, and happiness.  She’d been married to a man who had tried to sell out Flame Active children to the government,(not knowing that his wife and her coveted family connections were the same type of people), and Shamal had spared her when he’d realized that she’d truly been trapped by her situation.  As hers had been one of his earliest jobs, she’d gone on to get an education and become known for her ability to work with Assassins and Hitmen who needed help with their issues.

She had two Elementary-aged children, but she should be able to dedicate a decent amount of time to Asterion’s therapy.

Shamal also had to be selective in how he let Asterion train his body.  While his dark hair would go a long ways towards assisting him in blending in, martial arts Masters were not particularly inclined towards foreigners as a rule of thumb.  However, Asterion had already been trained for combat, and it would be detrimental for the teen to neglect that training now, especially as Shamal and the Sanctuary wouldn’t always be around to protect him.

More importantly, being able to defend himself properly would ensure that is Asterion wanted to leave the Sanctuary he _could_.

In Shamal’s mind, the psychological benefits of Asterion knowing that he had options would outweigh the risk that Shamal ran of the teen going berserk and causing grievous harm to someone on accident, most likely due to a momentary lapse of impulse control.

It just made Asterion’s need for therapy that much more prevalent, as the teen couldn’t really afford to just _stop_ , he  needed to keep moving forward, even if he needed to slow down to a crawl for a while.

Shamal noted the glance the teen gave him and discreetly took in the childish wonder on Asterion’s face as he moved his gaze around the room.

Something dark flittered through Shamal’s thoughts as he cast his mind back towards the first night he’d spent in his college dorm, the first time he’d felt free before his world _shifted_ and _shattered_ for the final time.

He tightened his grip on his pen and swore he’d do right by Asterion.

Shamal would do for _Asterion_ what no one had ever done for _Regulus_.

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The woman stared at the pone that she’s just hung up with mixed emotions swirling about in her chest.  After a few moments she sighed and swept her warm gaze over her comfortable office as she thought back on the conversation and everything it had dredged up.

After all, Sasagawa Yoko hadn’t always been Sasagawa Yoko.

Actually, she hadn’t always been _Yoko_.

There had been a time when her light brown hair had been white and her honey-colored eyes had been blue-grey.

She’s also been an illegitimate daughter of a prominent Mafioso, who had forced her into an early marriage with a man she _despised_.

Then Trident Shamal had come and killed the bastard, and then had actually looked _at her_ instead of _through her_ and had given her a new chance at life. 

He’d given her a tonic that altered her features permanently, (though he warned that her original appearance could be passed on to any children she might have), and had set up her residence in the other Mafia Sanctuary in Japan, where she’d also been able to go to school.

She had named herself Yoko- as the way she chose to write it, it meant ‘foreign sunny child’.  Yoko had fallen in love with her husband during her time at the University, and had been amused that he actually lived in the other Sanctuary.

Yoko had been pregnant during her last year at University, as Ryohei had come into their lives in late August of the year she graduated, followed closely by Kyoko who was born the following March.

Despite taking off the first few years to focus on her children, she had taken correspondence courses and night classes, to upgrade her degree to that of Master’s Degree in Psychology, and had attained her Doctor of Psychology, (Psy D.) certification about three years ago.

As a resident of a Mafia Sanctuary, she’d helped more than a few patients through dark periods of their life.

However, she’d never been handed a patient quite as….unique as Asterion Vasaio.

The boy was twelve, and by the paperwork he was just over a month older than Ryohei.

(The easiest lies are ones mixed liberally with truth.  Asterion’s birthday was listed as being the thirteenth of July, which was an entirely true statement if one looked at matters _creatively_. 

After all his birthdate was listed as 07/13/85, and all the numbers were correct, were they not?)

Yoko was to be Asterion’s therapist and border-line caretaker until Shamal could complete his Contracts and come back to look after his ward personally, then she would just be Asterion’s therapist.

The woman pursed her lips in resolution and gracefully rose from her desk and walked towards the bookshelf that lines the west wall of her office.

Well, she’d always wanted to do something for the man who had saved her when she’d never thought she even had the _slightest_ _chance_ at freedom, and this child’s situation tugged at the mother’s heart that beat faithfully in her chest.

Asterion Vasaio might be set to walk in the darkness, but Sasagawa Yoko would teach the child to _fly_.

After all, there were birds who owned the night, wasn’t there?

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Asterion shivered and shoved his hands into his pockets as he made his way back towards his apartment from the post office.

He had to post his completed assignments every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.  Yoko-sensei had imposed the rule that he was required to talk them to post office himself as a way to get him out and about in Namimori, as the post office was a good half-hour walk from his apartment.

Shamal did his best to call every morning after Asterion’s morning session with Yoko-sensei, (Asterion had two sessions a day right now, but he was slowly getting to the point of graduating to just one session a day), despite being incredibly busy tracking his targets and mapping out their defenses.

The teen’s smile turned a bit fonder as he thought about his therapist and his Goduncle.

Shamal had had to get back to work about five days after Asterion had been granted Sanctuary, so they’d been together a little under two weeks before the older man had left.  Asterion hadn’t thought that he’d gotten that attached until Shamal was gone.

Though it wouldn’t be until nearly two months _later_ that he would feel the beginnings of honest appreciation for all that Shamal had gotten accomplished in that small span of time.

When they’d gone to the first three sessions with Yoko-sensei, (as Shamal had accompanied him those times), Asterion had deeply resented thought of needing something like _therapy_. 

He had broken out of the Estraneo Labs by himself and managed to evade getting captured by them for four-and-a-half months, he was _fine_!

Yoko-sensei had been there for him during some of Asterion’s lowest moments.

For weeks he pushed her away, snapping and sniping and being difficult to both her and Shamal, throwing tantrums and acting out.  It had all come to a head one night late in November when he’d experienced a black out and came to clutching the toilet and covered in vomit, snot, and tears.  He’d been disoriented and terrified until he’d finally realized that Yoko-sensei was behind him rubbing soothing circles on his back and telling him _to just breathe through your nose, hold for three seconds, and breathe out through your mouth, Asterion-kun_.

Her voice had been low and soothing and he’d slowly managed to calm down and return to his senses.

After that, he’d finally begun the process of admitting that he needed help, despite it going against everything he’d ever learned from the Dursleys and the Labs.

 _Asking for help makes you weak.  Don’t you want to be strong?_ Slithered through his mind at least five times a day, and it was something that he talked to Yoko-sensei about quite a lot.

Slowly, though, he was learning how to stand up and be his own person and not just a pre-programmed punching bag.

His martial arts instructor was an old man who was doing Shamal a favor, who he simply addressed as ‘Sensei’.  The man trained him hard, and was mentally demanding as well as physically demanding, but provided a much needed focal point for Asterion. 

 _Things are starting to look up._   He thought as he unlocked the door and entered the _genkan_ , sitting down to remove his shoes out of habit.  _And Shamal should be done with his Contracts before I have to choose which Middle School I want to go to._

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Shamal sighed and ran his hands through his hair as thought about Yoko’s latest update.

Asterion was making positive progress towards recovery and developing healthy coping mechanisms, but he still would shut down when they mentioned his Flames type.  At this point Yoko was suggesting that they stop pushing the issue and just let the teen use his Flames however he was comfortable with so that her therapy focus could move forward.

While he understood her point, Shamal didn’t like it, as Asterion was born a _Sky_ and would feel unfulfilled until he had Elements.

However, pushing the teen into Flame Rejection or Discord wouldn’t help matters, so he’d agree for now.

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Shamal made it back to Japan in early February, and spent three weeks there before Reborn called and requested a meeting.  Knowing that it was more than likely about the information that he’d requested months ago, Shamal had told Asterion and asked for his opinion.

The boy, who had grown to a respectable five-foot-one-inch, had tilted his head and thought for a long moment.  “I don’t think I could give you an opinion that didn’t sound er-“

“You want to either be shot of them or chop them into tiny little pieces like a madman?”  Shamal guessed.

Asterion had scowled and chucked one of the newly purchased, colorful throw pillows at the man, who let it hit him in the face and then whined dramatically.

Rolling his eyes at his Goduncle, Asterion slumped forward and rested his arms on the warm table as he rolled the information over in his mind.  They were sitting around the _kotatsu_ and there was a veritable mountain of pillows that ranged from wide, flat ones meant for sitting to ones to the smaller, decorative ones that were mostly used as projectiles. 

(You could lean up against the fluffy couch while still being under the _kotatsu_ , so Asterion was quite comfy.)

“Pretty much.”  He admitted after Shamal finally stopped moaning about having his ‘dashing features defaced by violent youths’.  “Just tell me what you decide to do, alright?”

Shamal gave him a _look_.  “If Reborn is half as pissed as he sounds, they’ll be _dead_ , little lion cub.”  The perverted doctor tapped his chin in thought as he considered things.  “Though Reborn might spare your cousin just because he is young and stupid.  He’d be in for a rude awakening though.”

Asterion shrugged at the man.  “Whatever.”

“Oh, joy, teenagedom is rearing its ugly head.”  Shamal replied dryly, hastily changing the subject when Asterion picked up another pillow and aimed it in his direction.  “Have you decided where you want to go to Middle School yet?”

Asterion gave him a suspicious look, but set the pillow down.  “Yeah.”  He said, absently tugging on his hair, which reached his shoulders, but was shorter in the front and then textured.  “I always wanted to just be me.  At the Dursleys, in the Labs, I was always singled out and I hated it, so I’d like to go to Namimori Middle.”

Shamal quirked an eyebrow at the suddenly bashful countenance of his ward, but shrugged.  “Your life, little lion cub.”

The teen smiled then, bright and brilliant.  “Thanks, Uncle Shamal.”

The man harrumphed grouchily.  “Don’t call me that.  I’m far too handsome to be your uncle.”

The pillow Asterion threw at him nailed him in the gut with mush more force than Shamal privately thought was necessary.

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	4. Chapter Four

Asterion walked towards the gates of Nami-chuu with a bored look on his face and turmoil brewing in his chest.

While he was somewhat excited about attending an actual school, he was also anxious.  _What if I lose it and hurt someone?  What if I have a panic attack and have to go back to self-study because I’m too different to be in a school with normal teenagers?  What’ll happen if I have to go to the Nurse’s Office and have a flashback?_

All these thoughts and more were swirling around in his head.  His anxiety was so prevalent that he was seeing black in the edges of his vision and his body felt like someone had tried to microwave him and failed, leaving him uncomfortably hot but still frozen at the core.

Asterion made it just past the gates that framed the entrance to the grounds and nearly crumpled to the ground as a wave of apprehension crashed over him.

Since he was early, (because he knew he was going to have issues with this, plus Yoko-sensei and Shamal had both recommended that he arrive early enough to work through his anxieties at his own pace), he moved to the side and leaned against a tree.  The brisk April wind was soothing for all that it was chilled as he closed his eyes and tipped his head forward and ran through his breathing exercises.

As he forced his breathing pattern to stabilize, Asterion tried to direct his mind to focus on _facts_. 

He had to be in his classroom by eight-thirty for Attendance.  He already knew that he was a part of class 2C, so his homeroom classroom was on the southwest end of the building.  His homeroom teacher, Kentaro-sensei, was also the Social Studies teacher.

Asterion took a few gulps of air and furrowed his brow in determination as he tried to battle his anxiety into submission.  If he couldn’t get himself to even out soon he’d have to take one of his ‘panic pills’.  While he didn’t really feel shame for taking them anymore, he did feel like such an action was a personal failure when he did have to take one.  Asterion had no intention of starting his Middle School life on a low note, (a personal one, anyways), so he dug deeper and tried to find more facts for his mind to grab ahold of.

Today was April 13, 1998.  It was Monday.  That meant that the school-wide Assembly would be taking place after Attendance was taken.  The Assembly would last about fifteen minutes, with the school Principal addressing them. Then they would attend their first class.  They had four classes before lunch.  Lunch lasted about forty minutes, and could be brought from home- though the school provided lunches- and students were allowed to eat wherever they wanted as long as they stayed within the school’s grounds.  After lunch there were two more classes.  After their last class all of the students performed their cleaning duties before they were released to their after-school Clubs.

Asterion felt like crying with relief as his maelstrom of _what if’s_ slowly died down to a manageable whirlwind.  _Almost there._  He told himself as he dug a little deeper.  _You’ve almost made it_.

School was held from Monday to Saturday.  Though Saturdays only held the four morning classes.  There were eleven mandatory classes.  Most classes were held Monday/Wednesday/Friday, and then Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday.  The Monday/Wednesday/Friday classes were called ‘Water Schedule’ while the Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday classes were called ‘Fire Schedule’. 

The names were from the traditional names for the days of the week, as Tuesday was sometimes referred to as ‘Fire’ while Wednesday was sometimes referred to as ‘water’.

Asterion’s breathing pattern finally settled into calmness as he tried to pull his thoughts the rest of the way into a semblance of order.

_There are eleven mandatory subjects, but six classes per day with only four on Saturday.  We have ‘Guidance Hour’ with our homeroom teacher on Tuesday and Thursday for an hour.  Each Term two classes are chosen to rotate being ‘short’ each week, as Saturday only has four classes instead of five.  This Term it is English and Health.  We are given projects in these classes to compensate for lost lecture time._ Asterion finally felt the ground level out underneath him and he checked his watch.  _Seven forty-five.  Still have plenty of time_.  The teen detached from the tree and began making his way towards the school building at a leisurely pace.

_Everyone is required to join a Club in Middle School.  However, magic students like me also have night classes.  The Imperial Ministry of Magic holds classes on Wednesday/Thursday/Friday evenings, for four hours per evening._  Asterion cringed as he thought about all the hours he would be putting in with his schoolwork.  _Fortunately, we are allowed to use the Time Rooms twice a week.  Meaning that twice a week we are allowed to turn back time and sleep or do homework while our ‘present’ selves are at school_. _They recommend using the Friday and Monday time slots, as you have to sign up for the Time rooms as only the senseis are allowed to operate them_.

Asterion had successfully made his way into the school at that point, sufficiently distracted by his thoughts of homework and impending academic doom. 

_At least the magic classes are designed to go hand-in-hand with our nonmagical ones to make things a bit smoother_.  Asterion thought as he changed his shoes and made his way to his classroom _.  And once we reach high school we are allowed to use the Time Rooms three times a week_.

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Fortunately for Asterion his therapy and his classes with Sensei counted as his Club activity. 

Since he was quiet, as he was still hesitant about speaking Japanese, he was largely ignored by his fellow classmates, save for when they needed his input with a project.  Some of them talked bad about him behind his back, about everything from his gaijin looks to his clothes, but after he sent the first few idiots to the Nurse’s Station after they tried to get physical with him, most simply stuck to verbal abuse.  Asterion was mildly impressed with the amount of thought they put into their insults as they phrased things to seem slightly condescending as opposed to outright insulting.

He never realized that he was worth such effort.  Who knew?

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It was when he was walking through the gates on his seventeenth day of school that he met Hibari Kyouya.

Oh, Asterion had heard rumors about the boy who had forcibly taken over the gang of delinquents who used to use Nami-chuu as their headquarters when he was still in Elementary.  But as Asterion kept his head down as he tried to muddle his way through his day he’d never before been introduced to the violent Prefect.

On that morning, however, his phone call with Shamal had run a little longer than expected and so he was just passing through the gates as the bell rang.

“You’re late, herbivore.”  A young, but frigidly cold, voice spoke harshly from his left.   “Prepare to be bitten to death.”

There was the lightest sound of rustling cloth, but Asterion’s combat training already had him in motion.  At the slightest prick of threat he’d dropped his bag, rolled to the side, and settled into a fighting stance facing his opponent without actually consciously considering his course of action.

For a moment he mentally cursed himself- _you’re in a civilian school in a Mafia Sanctuary, idiot!  Stupid instincts!_ \- he saw that his attacker had strange bar-like weapons in his hands. 

_….good job_.  He mentally sent to his instincts as the taller-than-him boy with dark hair and grey eyes looked at him consideringly.  Asterion had been mentally composing a sentence- his spoken Japanese was still a bit rusty- when the other boy grinned savagely and surged forward.

Asterion began to dodge and weave around the other’s strikes, firmly tamping down on his need to retaliate.  His constant mantra of ‘ _do not kill the civilian on accident’_ being disrupted by the punishing blow the other landed to his upper arm and back with one of those metal weapons.

_Screw this_.  Asterion snarled inside his mind as he relaxed the effort he was exerting to keep his body’s responses minimal.  _I’m going to kick this brat’s ass._

Asterion began to push back, putting the other on the defensive with a series of lightning-quick strikes that were aimed to bruise and cause discomfort.  The other’s eyes widened for a moment before a half-frustrated, half-exhilarated look overcame the boy’s face.  “Wao.”  He muttered to himself as he began to attack Asterion even more viciously.

Asterion hadn’t spent five years as an Estraneo test subject for nothing, however, and he gave as good as he got.  Time blurred and fell away as the two continued their violent conversation.  In fact, they were so absorbed in their exchange the bell that signaled the end of First Period startled them both.

The other jumped back and stowed his weapons, giving Asterion an assessing look before nodding sharply and spinning on his heel.  “Get to class, herbivore.” 

Asterion’s eye twitched, but he said nothing as he jogged over to his forgotten bag and made his way inside the school.  Once inside he quickly switched out his shoes and slipped into the flow of students, ignoring the rather awed stares directed his way with practiced ease.

_At least I have PE Third Period_.  He thought as he took a careful sniff and was pleased to note that he didn’t reek, but he did smell of sweat.  _I’ll be able to shower then_.

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April faded to May and then May gave way to June.  The weather also transitioned.  From the slightly cool mornings and warm afternoons of the early Spring to the blatantly hot days of early summer.  Asterion grew more confident in his ability to speak Japanese and slowly he managed to move from being a point of interest to his peers to mostly being a nonentity. 

Well, other than his position as Hibari Kyouya’s favorite target, that is.

Neither teen had decisively ‘won’ one of their encounters, and other than Hibari’s opening line about _breaking rules_ or _bite you to death_ , they really hadn’t exchanged any words.  However, as time went on and his workload grew, Asterion came to appreciate these exchanges.

They weren’t structured spars with Sensei, they were no-holds-barred fights.  Asterion had learned early on that Hibari did _not_ enjoy it when something unexpected happened, and that was the type of fighting style that Asterion _excelled_ at.  So while Hibari probably was the better fighter in terms of technique Asterion levelled the playing field with tricks and traps and feints that frustrated the other into making mistakes.

Something about the exchanges helped Asterion think clearer.  His Flames and his magic flowed better and he always felt as if he accomplished something amazing when the other would learn to dodge that extra step to avoid a trap or when he swept dirt up into his hands and flung it in Asterion’s direction.  Hibari’s growth in front of Asterion’s eyes- because of Asterion’s influence- somehow tasted like a _victory_.

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Hibari Kyouya was frustrated.

Well, perhaps _frustrated_ was the incorrect word to use.

Kyouya leaned against the fence that ran along the roof of his beloved Nami-chuu’s main building as he watched Vasaio Asterion allow himself to be bossed around by _herbivores_.  His brows furrowed as he watched the pathetic herbivore purposely speak slower- as one would speak to a toddler- to Vasaio while the ‘captain’ outlined the ‘plan’ to the other boy.

Kyouya didn’t have the foggiest idea why Vasaio accepted this sort of treatment with nothing more than a blank look and a bored expression.

Vasaio Asterion could keep up with Kyouya in a fight.  He was a Carnivore.  Why was he allowing the herbivores so much leeway in how they disrespected him?  It made something deep inside Kyouya lurch unpleasantly as he watched the ‘captain’ go back to his herd and snicker as Vasaio began to do the ‘tasks’ that he’d been assigned without complaint.  Kyouya’s hands tightened around the fence’s rail as a sharp surge of anger swept through him.

It should bother him, he knew, to be so fixated on a single person.  But Vasaio was _different_.   Kyouya’s lips tilted down into a frown as he tried to reach for the conclusion that seemed just out of reach.  It wasn’t just how the other boy fought or the fact that he could keep up with Kyouya that made Vasaio interesting.  There was a sense of brotherhood that they shared when they fought that eased a pain that Kyouya had grown used to.  Well, not really a pain so much as a-

Kyouya snarled soundlessly and whirled around sharply, snapping the roof door shut behind him as he walked away.  Kusakabe materialized by his side not three steps passed the stairs and his Second-in-Command began to dutifully fill him in on all the relevant information without being prompted.

And as patrol routes and problems that needed to be solved began to fill his mind he was able to shove the frustrating enigma that was Vasaio Asterion to the back of his mind.  However busy he kept himself, though, he never truly forgot about the strange boy whom seemed to be able to ground him when he felt as if he was on the brink of self-destruction- on those days when Kyouya’s greatest enemy was _himself_.

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A few days later, Asterion sighed as he placed the last of the sport’s equipment back on the rack.  He’d gotten stuck with doing more than hi share during cleaning duty as the other boys who had been assigned to this unit goofed off.  Technically he could make a scene and either Tatsuo-sensei or the Disciplinary Committee would fix the issue, but he was _tired_ and just wanted to go home.

While he had greatly improved since the start of school, being around so many others his age and trying to ‘act normal’ still took a lot out of him.  It was a physical, emotional, and mental challenge to wake up each day and force himself out of bed and through his morning routine.  Once he’d made it inside the school and gotten into the flow of things it wasn’t so bad, but some days he needed Yoko-sensei’s morning threat of bodily dragging him out of bed, (which she’d followed through on a few times), to get him out of bed at all!  It was especially bad in the first few months, but as his steps brought him closer to Nami-chuu he’d think of a thousand perfectly reasonable, logical reasons why he should just call Yoko-sensei and have her have him excused for the day.  They’d had a few phone arguments that had ended with him frustrated to the point of tears.

Then Hibari Kyouya had happened, and the battle-addicted other boy had continued to pop up out of absolutely nowhere every single day.  The fight that would inevitably ensue would shatter the doubt and gloom and fatigue that weighed Asterion down as the thrill of battle flowed through him.  Fighting Hibari helped Asterion feel _alive_.  Because he could look forward to his daily dose of battle it made it easier to get up and start the day at all.

However much fighting Hibari helped him face the day, though, it was still _exhausting_ to deal with everyone else.  It wasn’t even that they were overly mean or anything, either!  Sure they whispered some and a few outright hated him simply for being a different ethnicity, but most of his fellow classmates were neutrally polite, at the very least.  So, instead of complaining to Tetsuo-sensei or alerting the Disciplinary Committee, Asterion would much rather do more than just his share of cleaning in peace and be allowed to go home.

It probably wasn’t the best way to deal with the situation, but it was the easiest for _him_.  Besides, he still had to meet with Yoko-sensei every evening and he did not want to be late.

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It wasn’t until nearly the end of term that Asterion stumbled upon the reason why his thoughts seemed to circle around Hibari Kyouya.

Asterion had been meditating, an exercise that he’d been taught in the Labs and then re-taught by Yoko-sensei and Sensei.  It helped him feel his magic and his Flames and to center himself before and after a long day.  It was when he had been meditating that he had decided to do his weekly upkeep on the single Harmony that had been left from his time at the Labs.  He hadn’t told _anyone_ about it- not Shamal or Yoko-sensei or anyone- because it wasn’t entirely intact.  Asterion feared that his caretakers would decide to sever the fragile Bond completely.   A fractured Bond affected the Sky more than the Element due to the Sky constantly pushing out an excess of Flames in order to mend it, it was part of the Sky Flame’s Harmony factor.  The Element would be unable to support their part of the Bond because they would not fully comprehend the issue without being physically near the Sky in question, and Asterion had _no idea_ which one of the people he’d Harmonized with this particular Bond was connected to.  It was the one thing that he held entirely to himself, because he didn’t think the person on the other end would be able to hold on without his support. 

Shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind, Asterion directed his Flames- his pure Sky ones- towards the Bond and gently pushed as much of them through the frayed connection that he could.  He could feel moment the person on the other end began to feel the Sky Flames through the connection and he mentally cheered at the thought of being able to help someone _else_ for once.

It was when he had pushed as much of his Flames through the connection as he could and was withdrawing from the area where he visualized where his Bonds were housed that he noticed it.

There was not just the one connection in the area where he envisioned his Harmony Bonds existing. 

There were _two_.

Asterion’s panic had snapped him out of his meditative trance.  His breath had quickened and he fisted his hands in the squishy pillow that he used as a cushion while he meditated and _panicked_.

_I can’t_.  He thought fuzzily as his mind was suddenly _too loud_ and his body felt both _on fire_ and _frozen_.  _It’s not possible.  We haven’t even spoken._   For there was only one person that he was acquainted with that could possibly match the Bond’s signature.  The soon-to-be-teen tried to calm himself but all he could hear over the roar in his ears were the _screams_ of the Elements that had fallen into Dissonance as the Estraneo scientists shattered their connection to him.  All he could feel was the _soul-deep grief_ he had felt over and over and over as the Element Bond disappeared and he was left _empty_ and _lost_ and-

There were hands on his shoulders and he was being guided somewhere, and someone’s voice was in the far-off distance, but he couldn’t focus on _any_ of that as he spiraled further into his memories and panic and grief.

“-rion-kun-“

“-have to-“  “-dose-“  “-aside-”  “-idea-“

Asterion lost consciousness at that point, but his foray into it was far from peaceful.

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Yoko wore a bracelet that Shamal had given her that alerted her whenever Asterion entered into a prolonged period of duress. 

Shamal had told her that it was not made to go off unless Asterion body was actually in a state of panic.  She had been a bit skeptical, of course, but Shamal was a very talented Mist, so she had accepted the thin silver bangle.  When the bracelet had not gone off during Asterion’s sessions with his Martial Arts teacher or his Physical Education classes, just when he had started to panic, she had been rather impressed.  The bracelet had allowed her to know that she needed to be there during his major panic attack back during December, and it was at that point that she had truly believed in Shamal’s little invention. 

It alerted her by warming up in response to Asterion’s level of duress.  The attack in December had felt as if she had touched her wrist very briefly to a hot pan or something, and none of the other times it had gone off had been nearly that uncomfortable.  Therefore, when the bracelet had suddenly flared so hot it felt cold she had immediately picked up her phone and tried to call Asterion.  When her patient did not answer her and the bracelet continued to grow colder, (and yet warmer), she had told her secretary that she needed to check in with a patient and had all but flown out of her office to her car.

She had not bothered knocking on Asterion’s apartment door, nor had she paused to change her shoes.  She could hear the boy’s panicked breaths as soon as she had opened the door.  She had quickly entered the main area of Asterion’s apartment and had nimbly hopped over the red couch so she could reach the boy faster.  Asterion was lying in a fetal position, awkwardly half-on one of the large squishy pillows that he used in place of a tatami mat to meditate on.  He had tears streaming down his face and had one hand clutched so tightly into the front of his shirt that he’d drawn blood, while the other hand was fisted in his hair- and she was fairly certain that he had pulled a generous amount of hair out as well.  He was breathing in a strangely hiccupped manner and seemed to be trying to rock back-and-forth, but wasn’t able to manage to do so.

Yoko’s heart broke as she saw the state he was in.  “What happened, Asterion-kun?”  She murmured as she knelt beside him and began to rub soothing circles onto his back with one hand while she gently tried to pry his hand from his chest with the other.  After five minutes of being unable to draw him out of his panicked state with her soothing chatter she decided that he was going to need to be sedated.  Yoko quickly walked over to the apartment’s phone and called for an ambulance.  After she hung up the phone she spent a moment thanking the Hibari family for their patronage, as the family’s strict policies ensured that the Namimori emergency services were _prompt_.

It wasn’t long before the emergency medical personnel arrived.  Thankfully the medical doctor that Shamal had left as Asterion’s primary care physician had cleared the dose of sedative she had requested and it was quickly administered to the distressed child.  Shortly after that Asterion was secured to the transport patient bed, loaded up in the ambulance and on his way to Namimori General Hospital.

Yoko quickly checked around to make sure there wasn’t anything that needed to be turned off or stopped before quickly locking up and heading to the hospital herself.

“What on earth happened to cause you such distress, Asterion-kun?”  She murmured as she backed out of her parking spot.

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Shamal sat at his Godnephew’s bedside and wondered which higher power thought that _Shamal_ was anything close to guardian material.  It had been three days since Asterion’s massive panic attack and the staff had chosen to keep him sedated until Shamal could make it back, due to Asterion’s extreme aversion to hospitals.

They had disconnected Asterion’s IV Drip and Shamal knew the brat would wake up sometime in the next hour or so.  Shamal had coated the room in Mist Flames so that it did not immediately look like a hospital room, but he was leery of using too much of his Flames because he simply had no idea what had set Asterion off in the first place.  A thousand scenarios ran through Shamal’s mind and another million side-scenarios spawned form them and all this waiting was driving him crazy.

Fortunately Asterion began to stir, interrupting Shamal’s rapidly spiraling train of thought.  Shamal watched as the boy’s brows furrowed and his eyes moved rapidly under the delicate skin of his eyelids.  Asterion’s fingers twitched and a few other muscles rippled under the sheets as his body began to shake off the drugs that had kept the teen unconscious.  Eventually Asterion’s eyes cautiously eased themselves opened and the boy blinked several times as he adjusted to the low lighting in the room.

“Morning sunshine!”  Shamal chirped rather sarcastically, causing the boy to sluggishly turn his head to meet Shamal’s gaze.  “Have a nice rest?”

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“ _Shamal_?”  Asterion rasped in English, trying to get his tongue to work.  He was so thirsty he felt like he could drink an entire lake!  Asterion’s eyes flicked around the room and it took his slow-moving mind a moment to cotton on to the fact that he was in the hospital.  “What happened?”  He asked in consternation.

“ _You tell me brat_!”  Shamal replied rather petulantly, waiving his hands around and dispelling his Flames and he slouched down further in his chair.  “You had a panic attack so bad we had to sedate you.”

Asterion’s brows rose as he tried to-oh.  Oh.

“ _Whoa, brat, breathe_.”  Shamal said, shooting upright in his chair and placing a calming hand on Asterion’s upper arm.  The elder Mist used his not-often-utilized Rain Flames to inject some Tranquility into the kid.  It took a few minutes of steady chattering and feeding Flames into him, but slowly Asterion stopped outright panicking.

“ _Thanks_.”  Asterion slurred- a side effect of the amount of Tranquility in his system- a few minutes later.  The boy blinked a few times and the hazy sheen to his green gaze slowly lessened.  “ _’m sorry, Uncle Shamal_.”  He murmured quietly.

“ _It’s fine, kid_.”  Shamal replied, lips pursed as he searched Asterion for any physical signs of his condition worsening.  “ _Now why don’t you tell me what happened?”_

Asterion seemed to struggle against himself a bit, but the amount of Tranquility Shamal had filled him with, coupled with the fact that Shamal was family, plus his age worked against him.  “ _I accidentally Harmonized_.”  He muttered as the sting of tears burned against his eyes.  “ _I didn’t mean to.  But it just happened and now I don’t know what to do and I didn’t meant to and_ -“

“ _Whoa.  Calm down brat_.”  Shamal cut into Asterion’s babbling smoothly.  “ _Tell me what happened.  Exactly_.”

Asterion promptly spilled his secrets.

Shamal ran his hand through his hair as he contemplated the information.  Asterion toyed with the ends of the sheet and snuck quick glances at the older man every few seconds.

“ _Alright_.”  Shamal said after taking a few minutes to digest the information.  “ _I understand why you didn’t want to say anything about the frayed Bond, but I am not going to tell you what to do about it.”_

Some of the tension bled out from Asterion’s shoulders.

“ _This new Bond you have forged though_ -“  The tension snapped back into the almost-teen and Shamal internally cursed the Estraneo to the depths of Tartarus in the sanctity of his mind.  _“-I think you should accept it.”_

Asterion peered at Shamal suspiciously, but said nothing.

“ _Look._ ”  Shamal sighed as he sank back in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair.  “ _Skies are meant to Bond.  I know, I know- you don’t like to identify with that, but the fact is, regardless of your ability to use the other Flames you are- at heart- a Sky.  And really_.”  Shamal spoke over Asterion’s barely-voiced protests.  “ _You deciding to break a Bond that has been forged through understanding because you don’t want to accept your true Flame Type is not all that much different from what the Estraneo did to you._ ”

Asterion looked extremely offended and irritated, but his mouth snapped shut.

_Which higher power thought I would make a good guardian, again?_   Shamal mentally lamented.

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After Asterion was discharged he was up to his ears in homework and pre-exam stress.  Even with all of that distracting him, he still made a concentrated effort to avoid Hibari, though.

Unfortunately for Asterion, Hibari Kyouya was not about to let that continue.

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When Hibari Kyouya had gotten the notice that Vasaio Asterion was not only absent from school but he was also in the hospital he was furious.  At first he thought he was simply angry over the fact that Asterion would be missing school- and therefore their spars- but as the information continually reverberated through his mind he realized that his anger was not purely anger.

It came as an epiphany while he was beating down some rule breakers- and pointedly ignoring the fact that they were some of the more vocal dissidents of Asterion due to his European heritage- that he realized that the emotion underlying the nearly irrational anger was _fear_.

Contrary to popular belief, Hibari Kyouya knew fear.  _Intimately_.  However, while most children were allowed to hide behind their mother’s skirts and _be afraid_ , Hibari Kyouya _had not had that option_.  Kyouya’s mother had been an assassin before she had married his father- who was one of the founding members of Japan’s Delta Force.  Delta Force handled counter-terrorism and had existed long before it became an ‘official’ sub-agency of the Japanese Self Defense Force.  His mother had had many insights into his father’s work, as she had been quite knowledgeable about the underworld- seeing as she had been an assassin.  Unfortunately there had been a traitor who had infiltrated the lower-levels of the Delta Force and that bastard had facilitated the events that had resulted Kyouya and his mother being captured.

His mother- _his strong, fierce, invincible mother_ \- had died getting him to safety.  She had killed nearly a hundred people doing so as she had guided the then-seven-year-old through a labyrinth of underground tunnels in the North Korean complex they had been imprisoned within.  When her wounds had finally gotten to the point that she could not continue, she kissed his forehead and pushed him towards the exit.

“ _Go on, my little carnivore_.”  She had whispered to him in her mother tongue, smoothing a hand through his hair as she looked at him with so much love it _hurt_ while the sounds of their pursuers grew nearer.  “ _Go on.  Grow.  Be strong.  And do no ever let anyone force you to do something you do not believe in_.”  Then she had tugged the metal door closed and left him.

Kyouya had done as his mother instructed, and he had eventually stumbled upon the American/South Korean until that had been stationed nearby.  They had contacted his father who had quickly come to get him.

Hibari Sentaro had hugged Kyouya fiercely.  “Do not let her sacrifice be in vain, little bird.”  That was all his father had had to say on the matter once he had been told the entire story.  From that point Kyouya had pursued strength with a single-minded purpose.  He had learned about his family’s connections to the underworld when ‘diplomacy’ had prevented his father from getting vengeance on behalf of his mother- legally.

His father had merely looked at Kyouya- who had been so furious he had wanted to cry- and had patted the boy on the head gently.  _“If we cannot get justice for you and your mother through the law, then we will go around it_.”

Kyouya had sworn then and there that he would always fight for justice- no matter what any _herbivorous law_ might dictate.  He would become the law, in that case.

But he had never forgotten the feeling of _fear_.  Of being useless, helpless, and a burden.  It crippled him sometimes; made him hate himself so badly that all he wanted to do was to find an opponent that would end him, because he was _weak_ and he’d _gotten her killed_ -

Yet when he fought Vasaio something long-frozen inside him thawed, and his fear- _always in the back of his mind, taunting him and baiting him, laughing at him with the faces of those who had tormented him_ \- became actual courage.  Kyouya felt more balanced, more centered, and sometimes he could almost hear his mother’s bright laugh on the wind as pushed himself to be _better_.

Kyouya stepped away from the punished rule-breakers and stowed his weapons before spinning on his heel and stalking away.  Once he was safely inside his office he contemplated his new epiphany and what that meant for him before coming to a firm decision.

So when Vasaio came back to school and was pointedly avoiding Kyouya, the grey-eyed teen was aware enough to recognize the fear that was blanketing the other boy.

Kyouya smirked as he stalked towards the other.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Clouds are often comfortable as loners, but they are also _catalysts_.  They can make an overbearingly hot day tolerably cool by blanketing the sun or they can churn and cause a mild rain shower to change into a thunderous storm.  They can provide a place for Lightning to strike and can hold the rain when it needs a place to hide.  They can soak up the mist when it spirals out of control and can spread across the wide expanse of the sky to make the endless stretch of blue far less lonely.

One should never, ever underestimate the importance of Clouds.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Asterion sighed as he tried to weave through the crowds and make it to the exit before-

“Vasaio Asterion.”  A cold voice sounded from behind him.

Asterion’s grip on his backpack strap tightened so badly that his knuckled turned white, and he reluctantly turned to face the other boy who he had spent the last _week_ avoiding.

Sharp grey eyes swept over him and Asterion could practically feel the Bond purr. 

It was slightly disturbing and also slightly wonderful.

All the thoughts and justifications and plans he had spent his time thinking up slipped away as the other barked out a short order to follow them and his body obeyed without bothering to pay attention to the chaos of his mind.  In just a few short minutes it was just Hibari and Asterion in Hibari’s office and as Asterion stared into the steady gaze that was looking back at him his mouth moved but none of the words that he wanted to say would make it past this throat.

Hibari’s gaze turned thoughtful and then his eyes widened in slight surprise as his smile turned sharp.

Asterion’s stomach dropped down to somewhere around his knees as his unease mounted.

“You’re a Sky.”  Hibari said bluntly, pointing to a small lick of Flame that had, (unknown to Asterion), flared to life around fingers.  Hibari’s eyes narrowed and Asterion’s knees felt as if they were about to give out on him, as the other boy rounded his desk and came to stand directly in front of him.  “You’re _my_ Sky.”  Hibari murmured as he reached out and cautiously place his palm above the hand that had Flames dancing about it.

Kyouya’s palm was suddenly covered in a light layer of indigo fire in response to the Sky Flames and the swell of Harmony danced heavily through the room for just a moment before the Flames flickered out of existence.

Kyouya’s eyes narrowed dangerously.  “Who hurt you?”  He demanded.

Asterion, buoyed by Harmony and the Tranquility that Shamal had been infusing him with every morning, plopped down onto the floor and began chattering.

“It started when I was left on my Aunt’s doorstep…..”

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	5. Chapter 5

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 “ _What_.”  Hibari, (Kyouya?  Kyouya-san?), bit out in a tone that fell just shy of a snarl.  “Do you mean ‘left on your Aunt’s doorstep’?”

“I mean.”  Asterion said dryly, propping his elbows up on his knees and massaging his forehead tiredly.  “That my parents’ old Headmaster left me on her doorstep, swaddled in baby blankets with a letter tucked inside.  And how do you know about Flames anyways?”

A muscle twitched along Hibari’s jawline and he balled up his hands into fists so tight that Asterion feared he had break something.  After a few endless, tense moments the other took a forcefully measured breath and gracefully slid down to sit with his back against the desk, yet facing Asterion.  “My mother.”  Hibari said after another long moment.  “She taught me the basics before she died.”

All of it was said in a flat tone, but Asterion could feel the Bond resonate with all the emotions that Hibari was trying to keep buried and it made him wince inwardly.  _It seems I’ve bonded with someone almost as broken as I am_.  He thought wryly as he gave Hibari a slow nod of acknowledgement, but stayed silent.

Some of the tension bled out of Hibari’s posture at that and another moment of silence passed, this one far more companionable.

However, Hibari would not be deterred for long and soon enough his grey eyes sharpened and he pressed the issue.  “Do not think that you are getting out of explaining things, Vasaio.  Doorstep.  Talk.  Now.”  He ordered.

Asterion sighed and ran a hand through his hair, but the order amused him more than irritated him.  “You can call me Asterion.”  He commented wryly, enjoying the way Hibari’s scowl deepened.  However, Asterion was not really in any condition to fight at the moment so he hurried to explain.  “I was left on her doorstep with a letter, and she had no way of contacting the Headmaster- the one who left me there- so I was basically shoved off onto them without their consent.”

Hibari’s eyes narrowed.

Asterion sighed.  “Look, Hibari, I really don’t want to do this here.”  Asterion gestured around the office and felt horrified and reluctant in equal measure, sure that Hibari was going to ridicule him or bit him to death for his dithering.

Sharp grey eyes held Asterion’s gaze for nearly an uncomfortably long moment before the other nodded decisively and smoothly rose to his feet.  “Very well then.  I will escort you to your residence.”  The look he shot Asterion spoke volumes of what would happen should Asterion protest.

The dark-haired green-eyed teen threw his hands up in defeat and stood.  “As you wish.”  He replied sardonically, snagging his bag off the floor and rising to his feet.  Meanwhile Hibari had turned around and was jotting something down on the legal-sized yellow notepad that was on his desk before he tossed the pen down and strode determinedly towards the door.

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Shamal had been supremely unhelpful during the conversation.  And by that Asterion meant that the stupid perverted Doctor was quick to fill in all of the details that Asterion glossed over, (because they weren’t important!), or outright forgot.

Asterion was absolutely _certain_ that it was only Shamal’s insistence that the Estraneo had suffered a major catastrophe about seven months after Asterion’s escape and that there was a Plan, (with a capital ‘P’), in place for the Dursleys that kept Kyouya from hopping on a flight- or hijacking one with his terrifying presence, it could go either way, really- and settling the matters himself.  Of course, Asterion did not think that Kyouya could single-handedly take out his former captors- the latter ones at least- but he was thoroughly convinced that the Hibari would do his damnedest.  And probably cause a great deal of property damage and bodily injury before he was overpowered.

Shamal would probably help, too!  The traitor!

Asterion’s summer break was far busier than he had originally expected, mostly because Shamal had provided Hibari with an itinerary of Asterion’s studies and a spare house key.  Hibari had no issue with barging in and dragging Asterion out of his apartment to do ‘DC related’ tasks when the other teen tried to hole up and avoid people.

In retaliation to his forced socialization, (well, Hibari dragged Asterion out of his apartment to _do things_ , but was actually extremely sensitive to how much contact with people that Asterion could handle and tended to tailor Asterion’s agenda accordingly), Asterion had taken to calling the other ‘Kyouya’ purely for petty revenge.  He did tack on a ‘-chama’ in public.  The fights that spawned from doing so were entirely satisfying for Asterion.  He viewed the bruises as badges of honor.

Also, petty revenge.  Asterion’s life was never boring, at any rate.

However, close- nearly _constant_ , Kyouya was a _persistent_ little jerk- contact with Kyouya had also led Asterion to formally meeting Kusakabe Tetsuya.  The tall teen- who was about half a year older than Kyouya- sported a pompadour-style hairstyle that seems to defy physics and was usually chewing on a sprig of something-or-other.  At first Asterion had been quietly terrified that the tall boy would resent of disapprove of him, but Kusakabe seemed to be unusually even-tempered and had barely batted an eyelash at Asterion’s sudden inclusion into the Disciplinary Committee ‘inner circle’, though Kusakabe tended to be extremely polite and somewhat distant in their interactions.

Asterion’s induction into the DC had been Kyouya chucking a _gakuran_ at him after their daily spar the day after the ‘revelations’ conversations.  Asterion had nearly tossed the black jacket with the red armband neatly sewn into it back at the other teen, but he hesitated as he could feel the underlying emotions that Kyouya was feeling seep through the Bond.  Asterion had suddenly instinctively known that this gesture was far more than it appeared.  This was not just a jacket with an armband to Kyouya, it was a symbol that Asterion was one of Kyouya’s people. 

Closer inspection, after he had put it on and headed to class, had him noticing that the armband was sewn slightly higher on the sleeve than the others. After the next school term started and Asterion spent more time with the other DC members, some discreet eyeballing of the other DC members’ _gakuran_ had confirmed that only his and Kyouya’s _gakuran_ had the armband in that particular spot.  When he had realized that it was nearly halfway through October and suddenly Asterion was very, very glad that he had not rejected the infernal thing.  Infinitesimal detail it might be, but as time passed and Asterion got to know Kyouya better, he was absolutely certain that the placement of his armband was not accidental.  By placing the symbol as high up on the sleeve as he had Kyouya had been acknowledging that Asterion was his _equal_ instead of his _subordinate_ and that was an incredible statement for the proud Hibari to make. 

He had had this epiphany while on Gate Duty with Kusakabe, and the other had seemed to know that Asterion had finally _got it_ and had graced the younger with a rather toothy smile.

_The devil is in the details, indeed_.  Asterion thought as an answering grin formed on his lips.

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As the end of Asterion’s first year in Japan drew to a close he was finally allowed to drop down to weekly sessions with Yoko-sensei, which was quite the relief as Asterion was starting to drown a bit under his workload.  There were his normal classes and his after-school activities, his magic classes, _and_ his duties with the Disciplinary Committee.

So, he was extremely busy.

There had been some moments where Yoko-sensei had ambushed him with surprise sessions, (and Kyouya-chama had enabled her, the _jerk_!), after the Incident that had landed him in the hospital.  Over time, though, she began to allow Asterion fewer sessions as she began to believe that he was actually healing instead of just telling her what he thought she wanted to hear.

It was late in November when Asterion had discovered, (in the middle of a fight with some high schoolers who were wanna-be yakuza from the next town over; the idiots had thought that they could defeat Kyouya and absorb the Disciplinary Committee), that Tetsuya was a Lightning and that a Guardian Bond was well on its way to forming.  He had steadied his breath and had focused on the fight, excusing himself as soon as he was able to that he could go home and panic properly.

Kyouya had stalked in to the apartment approximately sixteen minutes into Asterion’s well-deserved panic and had whacked him over the head with his _tonfa_ a few times before the Cloud had glared down at Asterion in frustrated anger.

“Why do you fight your nature?”  He had asked Asterion pointedly.  “I can understand you not wanting to be drawn back into that world- not after what they did to you.  But why do you hide from us?”

Asterion had slowly wrestled his panic under control and had answered after a long, tense moment.  “I remember them.  All of them.”  He had told Kyouya quietly, his chin dipping down towards his chest as his dark hair obscured his face.  Asterion’s hands fisted in his pants as he gritted out the next part.  “I remember my Flames mingling with theirs, how the Flames of my soul reached out and mingled with theirs, forging a bond that was unexplainable yet soul-deep.”  Tears dripped down Asterion’s nose as his shoulders hunched and forced himself to continue.  “And I remember every agonizing second of that bond being stripped away by those bastards.”  Asterion’s shoulders heaved and he bit his lip harshly, trying to compose himself.  _I am so pathetic_.  He thought disgustedly.

Kyouya snarled and fisted his hands in the front of Asterion’s shirt, yanking the other teen up so that he was forced to look Kyouya in the eye.  “You think us weak?”  Kyouya snarled furiously, purple fire dancing behind his blue-grey eyes.  When Asterion went to protest, Kyouya’s eyes narrowed to slits and he shook the other teen sharply.  “You think that that Perverted Doctor of yours would allow that to happen again?  That I would?”

“Or that I would?”  Tetsuya interjected mildly, having come in at some point during the altercation. 

Asterion slumped a little and he raised his head so that both of the other teens could see his weary eyes.  “I just-“  Asterion closed his eyes and his lips twisted into a snarl.  “-I _never_ want to experience that again.”  He said finally.

“Well, then.”  Kyouya said with a vicious smirk as he let go of Asterion and stepped back.  “It’s a good thing that I have a plan, eh?”

“ _What_?”  Asterion asked warily, scrubbing his embarrassing tears from his face, (he hated crying), and focusing on his violence-prone friend.  He glared slightly at Tetsuya.  “And how are you not confused?”

Tetsuya came further into the apartment and made himself comfortable on the couch while Kyouya slid gracefully into a seated position on one of the cushy floor pillows.  “I found a loophole and exploited it.”  Kyouya explained primly.  “So that Tetsuya would understand what the _hell_ was wrong with you when you had your inevitable panic.”

Asterion glared at his so-called friends.

Kyouya rolled his eyes.  “Your past makes such an action reasonable and acceptable.  I, however, will not allow such a weakness to control you.”

“Neither will I.”  Tetsuya drawled as he whipped out one of his many notebooks and began scribbling.

“So what’s the plan then?”  Asterion asked sourly.

Kyouya and Tetsuya grinned rather toothily.

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Given the amount of work Asterion had- both Kyouya-imposed and academic- and the implementation of Kyouya’s ‘Plan’ the New Year flew by and before Asterion knew it March had come.  Granted Kyouya’s ‘Plan’ mostly revolved around keeping Asterion busy and so immersed in his new life that his old life seemed to get further and further away.  The idea of Bonds forming still made Asterion somewhat queasy, but as the months passed he found himself settling and evening out.

Contrary to popular wives tales in the Mafia the Bonds, while soul-deep and able to feel things such as extreme distress and sometimes be used to locate another Bond-mate when they were under extreme duress, they were not akin to mind-reading.  

Nor did they drastically change a person’s personality overnight.

Kyouya was still very much an anti-social little brat when he wanted to be and Tetsuya tended to forget the time when he was making up patrol schedules and patrol route formations. 

The Bonds did, however, provide a sense of steadiness and maturity that most usually had to wait for the passage of time to provide them.  There was always the sense of _Someone is depending on me_ or _I have a place to go home to_ lurking in the backs of their minds that soothed them.  It was difficult to describe to someone who had never experienced such a thing, but the Bonds were more akin to the purest essence of _home_ and _you’re wanted_ and _you’re important, I need so, so be safe_ that fueled the actions of the Bonded on a subconscious, fundamental level that, over time, caused changes.

So while still looking for a fight and willing to beat down _any_ who dared to stand in his way, Kyouya no longer felt the desperate need to prove himself to himself.  Just as Tetsuya felt a bit more confident in his place as Kyouya’s right-hand and made decisions without wondering if _this wa_ s the decision that caused Hibari-san to decide that he has no need of me anymore.  Asterion, too, calmed and accepted that it was alright to have others depending on _him_ because _he_ could depend on _them_ as well.

As he hopped around his apartment, trying to eat his toast and put on his left sock at the same time, Asterion grinned stupidly at nothing.  _I love my life,_ he thought to himself.  Of course shortly thereafter he heard his front door open and the familiar cadence of Kyouya’s nearly-silent steps coming up the entry hall a few moments afterwards.

“Mmmph mmhmph mmph.”  He grunted as he finally managed to wrestle his left sock onto his foot and he switched feet.

“Yes, I can see that.”  Kyouya replied wryly as he leaned against the doorjamb.  “However you are very nearly late to your morning session and Tetsuya needs you to audit the west district today.  One of the shopkeepers informed his mother that people with DC uniforms have been disturbing the peace.  He had do it but with school being out he’s already got a patrol booked for himself.  I’d do it but I need to go inform the new Momokyokai leader of the rules of operating in Hibari territory.”

Asterion stopped hopping around long enough to droop slightly and give his pile of textbooks a mournful look.

“Tough luck.”  Kyouya told his friend with a small, amused smirk on his lips.

Asterion glared at his friend and swallowed the last of his toast.  “For that.”  He growled irritably.  “You owe me a spar, _Kyouya_ -chama.”

Kyouya scowled ferociously at Asterion.  “Stop calling me by that infuriating suffix.”  He growled.

“Tough luck.”  Asterion returned with a brilliant grin.

Kyouya’s _tonfa_ made an appearance and Asterion laughed rather manically.

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Asterion wove around the people with the ease of long practice, his DC _gakuran_ having been left at home since he was auditing today.  He noted a few members slacking off, but thus far h hadn’t noticed any- _ah_.  There.

His eyes narrowed in irritation as he noticed a few teens in Disciplinary committee _gakuran_ harassing a brunette woman. 

_Those uniforms are tattered, definitely not up to regulation.  So, they most likely were stolen from active members.  Tetsu said that he had to re-issue a bunch last month_.  Asterion noted as he watched the confused woman blink uncomprehendingly at the two faux-DC members.

“Hey.”  Asterion said once he had sidled up to the woman, a vicious little smirk on his lips.  “What are you idiots doing?”

Idiot Number One sneered down his nose at Asterion, but Idiot Number Two was apparently the brains of the operation because he went chalk white.  “What do you want, punk?  Can’t you see we’re on official DC business here?”

Idiot Number Two whimpered.

_Definitely the brains, then._   “Oh, are you?”  He asked pleasantly, gently guiding the bemused woman to his other side and gesturing for her to move on, which she did with a happy hum.

“Oi!”  Idiot Number One bellowed causing the woman to turn to look at them in confusion, only for Asterion to wave her off with a smile.  “What are you doing?!  Don’t you  know who we are?  Who we answer to?  Hibar-“

Asterion’s fist planting itself into his face cut the idiot off.  “I am Vasaio Asterion of the Disciplinary Committee.”  He informed them menacingly with a pleasant smile on his face.  Idiot Number Two whimpered a little as his suspicions were confirmed.  “And you two Idiots have an appointment with Hibari Kyouya.”  He grabbed them both by the backs of the jackets, (he had slipped behind them as he had spoken), and pulled them forward.  “Pray he likes your answers.”

They began to struggle and Asterion gave a low chuckle.  “I have no problem delivering you to the Chairman battered and bloody, so don’t push me.”

Of course, knowing where they were headed the Idiots did, but Asterion still followed through on his threat.  Besides, Kyouya only made them more battered and bloody.

“So, you thought you could disturb the peace in Namimori in the name of _my_ Committee?”  The Chairman had purred darkly, having met them at one of the parks once Asterion had texted him that he had located the troublemakers.  “For such herbivorous actions you will be bitten to death.”

Asterion felt exactly zero sympathy as he watched the rather brutal beat down.

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Asterion huffed as he rang the doorbell to the Sawada home.

_How did I get roped into delivering this again?_   He mentally complained as the same brunette woman from the day before came to answer.  He was in his disciplinary Committee uniform, so he was sort of surprised that she answered the door instead of ignoring him.  He’d expected to leave the apology package that he and Tetsuya had put together in the mailbox, but well- apparently not.

“Ara?”  She said with a smile.  “Is there something I can help you with?”

Asterion bowed and presented her with the neatly wrapped parcel.  “Please accept this gift on behalf of the Namimori Disciplinary Committee.  We are sorry for the conduct of our members.  They have since been reprimanded and such a thing will not occur again. We apologize for the trouble.”  The gift was taken from him and Asterion straightened back up to his full height.

“Ara?  But they weren’t much trouble at all….”  The woman said, setting the package down inside the house. 

“Nonetheless, their actions were not acceptable by the guidelines set forth by the Chairman and we sincerely apologize for the trouble.”  Asterion bowed one more time, gave the woman a bright smile, and left.

Shutting the door, Sawada Nana was bemused.  _What a nice boy_.  She thought happily as she took the package and sat it on the coffee table on her way back to the kitchen _.  I wish Tsu-kun could make friends with a nice boy like that_.  She sighed to herself as her eyes landed on the end-of-the-year report sent to her by her son’s school.

On the bright side, he’d passed.  He’d be starting his last year of elementary school in April.  On the downside, he was in last place in the class rankings.

_Oh, Tsu-kun._   She sighed heavily.  _What am I supposed to do with you?_

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Shamal made it back to Japan just in time to celebrate the start of Asterion’s second year of Middle School.  Yoko-sensei had also asked Asterion to keep an eye on her eldest, Ryōhei, who was starting middle school that year as well.

“So what have I missed, oh darling nephew of mine?”  The Doctor-Assassin drawled from his sprawled position on the couch.  Kyouya was cat-napping in the sunshine on the balcony and Tetsu had taken over the kitchen bar with his collection of notebooks.

Asterion tossed a handy pillow at his uncle.  “As if I don’t talk to you on the phone at least every other day, you perverted jerk.”

Shamal affected a mock-offended look.  “But it’s not the same as being here to witness your milestones in person.”  Shamal sniffed dramatically.  “They grow up so fast.”

“If I’m growing up fast, you realize that makes you old, right?”  Asterion pointed out, blatantly ignoring Kyouya’s choked chuckled and Tetsu’s amused snort.

“You are no longer my favorite nephew.”  Shamal sulked, burrowing down into the comfortable couch and glowering at Asterion.

Said teen rolled his eyes.  “I’m your only nephew.”

“And not my favorite.  Work it out, brat.”  The man grouched.

Asterion laughed and settled back against the couch as well.  He had homework he needed to do, but he was really comfortable and he wanted to ignore his responsibilities for a little while.

Kyouya stretched languidly in the sunshine before ambling over to the sitting area with his sun-warmed pillows.  He tossed them down and stretched out on them before deigning to speak.  “So, Sawada Tsunayoshi.  What is wrong with him?”  Kyouya asked out of the blue.

“Hmm?”  Shamal returned in a questionably uninterested voice that got him suspicious looks from all three teens.  “What?”  He asked innocently.

He received three scowls of varying intensity in return.

Shamal huffed and crossed his arms sulkily.  “You brats are so uncute.  Why couldn’t one of you be an adorable lady-in-the-making?”

The pillow Kyouya nailed Shamal with had a considerable amount of force behind it.  “I ask.”  Kyouya drawled while watching Shamal peel the pillow off his face with undisguised glee.  “Because his mother was the one who the idiots harassed.  Shortly thereafter we noted that the son had a serious bullying problem, but every time I go near him he irritates me by nature of existing.”

“Isn’t that everyone by default?”  Shamal mumbled grumpily, holding his hands up in surrender as Kyouya reached for another pillow.  “Alright, alright.  Jeez.”  Shamal grumped.  “From what I understand from Reborn’s ranting, his father had his Flame sealed.”

There was a moment of deafening silence before all three teens exploded.

_Negatively_.

Tetsu had yet to use his Flame outside of his body, but he was damn adept at using it internally.  (He had a particular fondness for allowing people to punch him and quirking an eyebrow when they broke that respective limb.  Watching those people complain to an ‘authority’ always amused all of them.)  Kyouya’s penchant for using his Flame for everything from pillow hefting to _tonfa_ wielding was also fairly old news to the three of them.  As a matter of fact, the Hibari seemed nearly gleeful every time he found a new application for his inner purple fire.

“But Flames are of the soul.”  Asterion murmured, horrified.  “To seal them off is considered a punishment of the highest order.  Even the Vindice don’t usually consider such a thing.”

Shamal huffed irritably but he did not really look happy either.  “There is no research that suggests that sealing the Flames in a child has a detrimental effect on their development.”  Shamal said in a voice that suggested he had heard the words nearly a million times over.  “Furthermore the seal prevents the child from being classed as a Flame Active, meaning that the boy is still considered a civilian.”

Asterion, Kyouya, and Tetsu all gave Shamal the look they felt that statement deserved.

Shamal held his hands up in surrender.  “I’m an Independent and it is an internal matter for an established Famiglia.”  He said in voice absolutely devoid of any inflection.  “I cannot interfere unless requested.”

All the teens stopped and looked at Shamal for a long moment before they all exchanged glances among themselves.  When they all grinned rather predatorily Shamal huffed.  “I’m not involved.”  He muttered sourly.  “But, hypothetically and entirely unrelatedly, if a young child’s Flame is sealed it would take the Dying Will Bullets or Pills in successive use to unseal the Flame.  Or for a Sky to use their Harmony factor repeatedly on the sealing site to weaken it until the child’s inherent Flames could break through.”

Asterion inhaled sharply but he nodded at Tetsu and Kyouya.  “So.”  He said aloud after a few moments of plotting and Shamal grumbling about idiots.  “Still think that you can win against me in video games, old man?”

“Bring it, brat!”  Shamal huffed grouchily.  “I was kicking ass in video games before you were a twinkle in your father’s eyes.”

“I call bullshit!”  Asterion sang in challenge as he stepped over Kyouya to turn on the game system, the Hibari huffing in offense, but staying in his self-appointed spot.

“I will observe and declare the loser’s penalty.”  He declared, giving them both a challenging smirk.

“Fair enough.”  Shamal said.

“I’m not scared of your penalties!”  Asterion shot back, stepping back over his fried and shucking a controller at Shamal.  “Tetsu come back me up!”

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Asterion huffed to himself as he jogged around the track _.  I can’t believe that Shamal got out of having to do his penalties by telling Kyouya about my former family’s fates.  I was sort of surprised to hear that my uncle had been arrested for embezzlement.  Marge being arrested and sentenced for animal cruelty was a bit more expected.  Apparently Aunt Petunia and Dudley had to apply for public assistance because all of the Dursley assets were seized!  Even the house on Privet Drive was sold!_  Asterion shook his head and kept his breathing steady as he upped his pace for the next lap.

_I’m still surprised that Reborn didn’t just shoot them, but apparently he was so angry he decided that public humiliation was the better option._   Asterion ignored Shamal’s heckling as he passed the man- who was kicked back on a lounge chair sipping at his umbrella-garnished drink with a smug smirk.  The smug grin that the man was wearing was entirely unnecessary, in Asterion’s humble opinion.

On his next lap, Asterion reached out with his foot and knocked his so-called uncle’s lounge chair over with some rather quick footwork.

_Much better._   He thought self-righteously as he heard Shamal’s disgruntled bellyaching from behind him.

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Sawada Tsunayoshi was dejectedly making his way home from school.  It had been a lousy week.  He’d gotten all of his vocabulary words mixed up during the quiz on Monday, he’d had his lunch stolen on Tuesday, and then on Wednesday he’d gotten a _negative five_ on his history test because he’d forgotten to put both his class number and his name on both test papers before absolutely failing at answering _all_ of the questions.

And then today- Thursday- he’d failed his math test!  Not only had he failed but his teacher had told him that he needed to get his mother to sign it to prove that he had showed it to her!

_I really am no-good._   He thought miserably as he swiped at his eyes angrily.

A pair of dark clad legs suddenly entered his sight, causing him to suddenly fail and fall backwards onto his bum.  Naturally his bag went flying, it’s haphazardly packed contents spilling out onto the sidewalk.  _Great.  Just great_.  He thought miserably as the sky finally opened up with the rain it had been threatening all day began to drip down onto him.  _Perfect_.

“Sorry.”  Said the person who had caused his distress.  To Tsuna’s astonishment the teen knelt down and swiftly collected the scattered possessions, nimble fingers quickly repacking Tsuna’s messenger bag and handing it back to him.  “I should have watched where I was going.”  The green-eyed teen smiled kindly at Tsuna and ruffled his hair, his slender fingers sliding through the soft strands easily and gently scraping against Tsuna’s scalp in an affectionate gesture that only his Mama had afforded him previously.

The teen chuckled as he rose and helped Tsuna up onto his feet.  “I’ll try to be more aware in the future.”  The teen told him wryly.  Then he grinned at Tsuna and poked him in the forehead.  “Later Fluffy.”  The teen called a disconcerting moment later, raising his hand in a lazy farewell as he walked on past.

Tsuna was left wondering about the strange tingling sensation he felt in his forehead and why the uncomfortable itching sensation felt right.  As he continued homeward his brow furrowed as Tsuna experienced the strangest feeling of loss as the itchy sensation faded into numbness.

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As he walked past the young Sawada Asterion smirked sharply as he met Kyouya’s eyes.

_First contact made._

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End file.
